
Title 



Class T..J'^.±o61 
Book :.Lz3.L.{f?..^ 



Imprint 



;^r/^ ^U^/^un/, 




No. XYI[. 

FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA 

EDITED BY EPES SARGENT. 



THE POOR GENTLEMAN 

21 Comebg, 



IN FIVE ACTS. 



BY GEORGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER. 



WITH THE STAUB BUSINESS, CAST OF CHARAC- 
TERS, COSTUMES RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC. 



NEW YORK: 

SAMUEL FEENCH 

No. 122 Nassau Stbbet, (Up Stairs.) 
PRICE,] [121^ CTS. 



FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA, 

Price 12)^ Cents each..— Bound Volumes $1. 



VOL. I. 

1. Ion, 

2. i<'azio, 

3. Thd^.ady of Lyons, 

4. Richelieu, 

5. The Wife, 

6. The Honeymoon, 

7. The School for Scftndal 

8. Money, 

With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mrs. A. C. 
MOWATT. 

VOL. V. 
SS. A New -Way to Pay 
Old Debts, 

34. Look Before You Leap 

35. King John, 
38. Nervous Man, 

37. Damon and Pythias, 

38. Clandestine Marriage 

39. MMlliam Tell, 

40. Day after the Wedding 

With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of G. COLMAN, 
the Elder. 

VOL. IX. 

65. Love, 

66. As You Like It, 

67. The Elder Brother, 

68. Werner, 

69. Gisippus, 

70. Town and Country. 

71. King Lear, 

72. Blue Devils, 

With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mrs. SHAW. 



VOL. XIII. 
97. Soldier's Daughter, 
93. Douglas, 
99. Marco Spada, 

100. Nature's Nobleman, 

101. Sardanapalus, 

102. Civilization, 

103. The Bobbers, 

104. Katharine and Pe- 

truchio. 
With a Pertrait and Me- 
moir of Mr. EDWIN 
FOREST. 

VOL, XVII. 

129. Camille, 

130. Married Life, 

131. Wenlock of Wenlock 

132. Rose of Ettrlckvale, 

133. David Copperfield, 

134. Aline, or the Rose of 

135. Pauline, [Killarney 

136. Jane Eyre. 



VOL. XXI. 

161. All's Fair in Loye, 

162. Hofer, 

163. Self, 

164. Cinderella, 
166. Phantom, 

166. Franklin, 

167. The Ounmaker of 

Moscow, 

168. The Love of a Prince 



VOL. II. 

9. The Stranger, 

10. Grandfather White- 

11. Richard IIL [head, 

12. Love's Sacrifice, 

13. The Gamester, [ache, 

14. A Cure for the Heart- 

15. The Hunchback, 

16. Don Caesar de Bazan, 
With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mr. CHARLES 
KEAN. 

VOL. VI. 

41. Speed the Plough, 

42. Romeo and Juliet, 

43. Feudal Times, 

44. Charles the Twelfth, 

45. The Bridal, 

46. The FoUiesof aNight 

47. The Iron Chest, 

48. Faint Heart Never 

Won Fair Lady, 

With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of E. BULWER 
LYTTON. 

VOL. X. 

73. Henry VIII. 

74. Married and Single, 
7i>. Henry IV. 

76. Paul Pry. 

7T. Guy Mannering, 

78. Sweethearts and 

Wives, 

79. Serious Family. 

80. She Stoops to Con- 

quer, 
With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Miss C. CUSH- 
MAN. 

VOL. XIV. 

105. Game of Love, 

106. Midsummer Night's 

Dream, 

107. Ernestine, 

WS. Bag Picker of Parts, 
109. Flying Dutchman, 
IK). Hypocrite, 

111. Therese, 

112. La Tour de Nesle, 
With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mr. JOHN 
BROUGHAM. 



VOL. XVIII. 

Night and Morning, 
JEthiop, 

Three Guardsmen, 
Tom Cringle, [ken 
Henriette, the Porsa- 
Eustache Baudin, 
Ernest Majtravera, 
Bold Dragoons. 



VOL. XXII. 

169. Son of the Night, 

170. Rory O'More, 

171. Golden Kagle, 

172. Rienzi. 

173. Broken Sword, 

174. Rip Van Winkle, 

175. Isabelle. 

176. Heart of Midlothian 



VOL. III. 

17. The Poor Gentleman 

18. Hamlet, 

19. Charles II. 

20. Venice Preserved, 

21. Pizarro, 

22. The Love Chase, 

23. Othello, [lings 

24. Lend me Five Shil- 
Wlth a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mr. W. E. BUR- 
TON. 

VOL. VII. 

49. Road to Ruin, 

50. Macbeth, 

51. Temper, 

52. Evadne, 

53. Bertram, 

54. The Duenna, 

55. Much Ado About No- 

thing, 

56. The Critic, 

With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of R. B. SHERI- 
DAN. 

VOL. XI. 

81. Julius Caesar, 

82. Vicar of Wakefield, 

83. Leap Year, 

84. The Catspaw, 

85. The P assing Cloud, 

86. Drunkard, 

87. Rob Roy, 

88. George Barnwell, 

With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mrs. JOHN 
SEFTON. 



VOL. XV. 

113. Ireland As It Is, 

114. Sea of Ice. 

115. Seven Clerks, 

116. Game of Life, 

117. Forty Thieves, 

118. Bryan Boroihme, 

119. Romance & Reality. 

120. Ugolino, 

With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mr. BARNEY 
WILLIAMS. 

VOL. XIX. 

145. Dred, or the Dismal 

Bwamp, 

146. Last Days of Pom- 

147. Esmeralda, [peii, 

148. Peter Wilkins, 

149. Ben the Boatswain, 

150. Jonathan Bradford, 
15*. Retribution, 

153. MineraU. 

VOL. XXIII. 

177. Actress of Padua, 

178. Floating Beacon, 

179. Bride of Lammer- 

moor, [8^^' 

180. Cataract of the Gan- 

181. Robber of the Rhine 

182. School of Reform, 

183. Wandering Boys, 

184. Mazeppa. 



VOL. IV. 

25. Virginius, 

26. King of the Commons 

27. London Assnrance, 

28. The Rent Day, 

29. Two Gentlemen of 

Verona, 

30. The Jealous Wife, 

31. The Rivals, 

32. Perfection, 

With a Pprtrait and Me- 
moir of J. H. HACKETT 

VOL. VUI. 

57. The Apostate, 

58. Twelfth Night, 
59 Brutus, 

60. Simpson ft Co. 

61. Merchant of Venice, 

62. Old Heads and Young 

Hearts, 

63. Mountaineers. 

64. Three Weeks After 

Marriage. 
With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mr. GEORGE 
H. BARRETT. 

VOL. XII. 

89. Ingomar, 

90. Sketches in India, 

91. Two Friends, 

92. Jane Shore, 

93. Corslcan Brothers, 

94. Mind Your Own Bus- 

iness, 

95. Writing on the Wall, 

96. Heir at Law, 

With a Portrait and Me- 
moir of Mr. THOMAS 
HAMBLIN. 

VOL. XVI. 

121. The Tempest, 

122. The Pilot, 

123. Carpenter of Rouen, 

124. King's Rival, 

125. Little Treasure, 

126. Dombey and Son, 

127. Parents and Guard- 

128. Jewess, [ians, 



VOL. XX. 

153. French Spy, 

154. Wept of Wish-ton 

Wish, 

155. Bvil Genius, 

156. Ben Bolt, 

157. Sailor of France, 

158. Red Mask, 

159. Life of an Actreni, 

160. Wedding Day. 



VOL. XXIV. 

Young New York. 
The Victims. 
Romance after Mar- 
Brigand, [riage, 
Pe^r of New York, 
Ambrose Gwinett, 
Raymond and Agnes, 
Gambler's Fat^ 



[ Catalogue continued on third page of cover.l 



No. XVII. 
FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA. 



THE POOR GEITLEMAI. 

IN FIVE ACTS. 

BY GEORGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER. 

WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, CAST OF CHARACTERS, COS- 
TUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c. 

AS PERFORMED AT THE PARK T HEATH I, 



NEW YORK: 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 

122 Nassau Strbut, (Ux Stairs.) 



CASX OF CHARACXERS. 

Cover.t Garden, 1800. Chesnut St. 1845. Park, 1645. 

Sir Robert Bramble !\rr. Munden. Mr. Thayer. Mr. Bass. 

Sir Charles Cropland .. " H. Johnston. " Bowers. " Crocker. 

Li' ntenant JFort'iington, '• Murray- " J- Scott. " Barry. 

OUiipod ..., " Fawcett. " Burton. " Placide. 

Frederick Bramble " Lewis. *' Brougham. " Blasui. 

Farmer Harrowby " Townsend. •' Eberle. " Ander.-on, 

Stephen Ilarrowbtj " Emery. " Owens. " G. Andrew.^. 

Huiiiphreij Dobbins " Wad(iy. " Greene. " Fihher. 

Corporal Foss " 13)anchard. " Dunn. " De Walden, 

Warner " Davenport " Phillips. 

Valet " " Blanknian. " King. 

Emily Worthington Mrs. Gibbs. Miss A. Fisiier. Mrs. Bland. 

MIbs Lucretia Mac Tab, " Mattocks. Sirs. Hughes. " Vernon. 

Dame Harrowby " Powell. " Rogers. MissFaniiyGordoh 

Mary Miss Sims. " Hilson. " Flyr.n. 



COSTUMES. 

SIR ROBERT BRAMBLE.— Moroon-colored coat, witli bra5=s basket buttous, old- 

fashioned s-uit, white silk stockings, shoes with buckle.'', while cravat, (Jeorge wig 

old gentleman's hat. 
SIR CHARLES CROPLAND.— Fashionable surtout coat, velvet waistcoat, white 

trowscrs, Wellington lioots, round op-era hat. 
LIEUTENANT WORTH INGTO.N.— Blue unifo-m. with red cuOs and collar, light 

dark pantaloons, Hessian boots, military hat. gray hair. 
OLLAPOD.— First dress: old-lasliioneii black tout and wai.otcoat, leather breeches, 

military boots. Second dress: Yeomanry jacket, sword, helmet, belt. &c. 
FREDERICK. — Plum-colored surtont anil pantaloons, trimmed with fur, velvet 

waistcoat, Wellington boots, black cravat, round hat. 
FARMER HARROWBY.— Brown surtout coat, red wni.ncoat, dark corduroy 

breeches, top-boots, George wig, farmer's hat, colored neckerchief. 
STEPHEN HARROWBY.— Short .smock frock, leather breeches, blue speckled 

stocking.s, .short black gaiters, black leather stock, hair soaped and tlowered, red 

pig-tail, and carter's whip. 
HUJMPIIREY DOBBINS.— Dark gray coat (with black buttons), waistcoat, aud 

breeciies, white lambs'-wool stockings, shoes with brass buckles, gray hair, old 

man's hat, white stock and buckle. 
CORPORAL FOSS.— Corporal's red jacket, buff waistcoat, white breeches, black 

gaiters, Chelsea pensioner's hat, black leather stock. 
VALET — Blue striped jacket, white waistcoat an<l trowsers, slioes, white apron. 
EMILY WORTIIINGTON.— Plain white muslin walking dres.s. 
MISS LUCRETIA MAC TAB.— French-gray flowered satin dress, white satin pet- 
ticoat, lace rullles, stomacher and neckerchief, caj), apron, higli-hecled shoes. 
DAME HARROWBY.— Dark cliints gown, red petticoat, check apron, coloured 

neckerchief, caj), and bbu.k shoes. 
MARY. — Chintz gown, white peitico it and apron, cap, coloured neckerchief, and 

black shoes. 

EXITS AND ENTRANCES. 
R. means Rifrht ; L. Left: R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door, 
S. E. Second Entrance; U. E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle Door 

RELATIVE POSITIONS. 
a., menus Right; '[a., Left; C, Centre ; U. C, Right of Centre 
L C, Left of Centre. 

N.B. Passages marked with Inverted Commas, are usually omitted in the 
representation. 



QiFT 

EST. OF J H. CORNiNg; 
oUNE 20. 1940 






THE POOR GENTLEMAN 



ACT I . 

Scene I. — A Farm-House Kitchen. 

Enter Dame Haruoavby and Mary, r. 

Darne. Sure, my meatiter wont be worse tlian his woid, 
and fail to come back from Lunnun to-day % 

Mary. That's what he \von't, mother. Feyther be as 
true as the clock, which, for certain, do go but indifferent 
now, seeing it do stand still. 

Fanner Harroivby . [ TVit/iout.] Woho ! gently wi' 'em ! 
So, there ! 

Dame. His voice, Mary, warn't it "? 

Mary. I do think so, 'fegs. Stay ! [LooJdng off, l.] — 
Dear ! here be a new drove of rare horned cattle coming 
into the yard. 

Dame. Nay, then, I'll warrant my old man be among 
*em. ^ 

Ma7-y. Yes, there be feyther, as sure as twopence. 

Dame. Run, Mary, 'tis my measter — run ! [Exit Mary, 
L.j If I ben't all of a twitter to see my old John Harrowby 
again ! 

Fanner H. [ Without.] Gently wi' 'em ! So boys, soho ! 
See 'em well into the yard, Will, and I'll be wi' you, and 
the rest of the beasts, bye an' bye. 

E?iter Farmer Harrowby, l., followed hy Mary. 

Well, mistress, how am you 1 — buss ! \IQssing her.] So ! 
Well, and how am you 1 

Dame, [r.] Purely, John, I thank you. Well, and how 
am you ] 



8 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act I 

Far. (c.) AVhy, I be come from Lunnun, you see. I 
warrant I smell of smoke, like the Nag's head chimney in 
the Borough. 

Dame. And what be the freshest news stirring up at 
Lunnun, John % 

Far. Freshest news ! Why, hops have a heavy sale ; 
wheat and malting samples command a brisk market; new 
tick-beans am risen two shillings per quarter; and white 
and grey peas keep up to their prices. 

Mary, [l.] Dear ! how pleasant 'tis to get the news 
fresh from Lunnun ! La, feyther ! if you would, but one 
of these days, just carry I up to Lunnun, to learn the gen- 
teel fashions at Smithfield, and the Borough, and see the 
modish ladies there a bit 1 

Far. No, no, Mary ! bide at farm, and know when you 
am well. But, mistress, let's hear a little how and all a- 
bout it, at home. 

Dame. Why, first and foremost, John, our lodgers be 
come. 

Far. No ! you don't say so ! 

Mary. An hour after you left us, feyther. 

Dame. The old gentleman. Lieutenant Worthington — 

Mary. And his daughter. Miss Emily — 

Dame. And his sister-in-law. Madam LucretiaM' Tab — 

Mary. And his old soldiering servant. Corporal Foss — 

Far. Whew ! fair and softly ! One at a time ! one at a 
time ! 

Dame. The lieutenant be a staid-looking gentleman ; 
and Madam Lucretia — 

Mary. She be an old maid, feyther ; and as frumpish a 
toad as ever — 

Far. Why, your old maids, for the most part, are but a 
cross-grained kind of a cattle. Howsomdever, disappoint- 
ment sours the best of folks. 

Dame. But Miss be the prettiest little creature — 

Mary. And as sweet-tempered, feyther — 

Far. Be she, though % 

Mary. No more pride nor our curate. She will fetch a 
walk with I, in the field, as I go a milking; and speak so 
kind, and so soft; and carry my pail, if I would let her; 
and all with so much decension and fallibility — 

Far, Bless iiei heart ! 



Scene I.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 9 

Stephen ITa7Towby. [Si?iging ^vitJioiit.] " There was a re- 
giment of Irish dragoons" — 

Fa7 . What a dickens ! Be that son Stephen keeping 
such a clatter ? 

Dame. Ah ! the boy be crazed, I do think, about sol- 
diering, ever since the lieutenant's servant, Corporal Fcvss, 
liave discoursed to him about champaigning. 

Far. Soldiering ! 1 '11 soldiei- the dog, an' he doesn't 
stick to the plough, wi' a devil to 'un. 

Enter Stephrn Harrowby, l., in a short frock, military 
sjuittcr dashes, a black stock round his neck, his hair dressed 
like a soldier's, and a carter's whip in his hand. 

Stc. Feyther, you am welcome back to country quarters. 
Charming weather for the young wheat, feyther. 

Far. Why, you booby ! who ha' made thee such a ba- 
boon 1 

Ste. A baboon ! [Latfghing.j He ! he ! he ! This be 
milentary, feyther. 

Dame. The lad's head be cracked, for certain. 

Far. Cracked ! Dang me but it shall be cracked, an' he 
don't keep to his business ! Answer me, you whelp, you ! 
Who ha' soaped up and flowered your numskull after such 
a fashion ? 

Stc. Lord, feyther, don't be so vicious ! Corporal Foss 
have put I a little upon drill, that be all. 

Far. Upon drill ! and leave the farm to go to rack and 
manger ] 

Ste. No, feyther, no ; I minds my work, and learns my 
exercise, all under one. I practise " Make ready !" and 
" Present !" in our bean-field; and when the corporal cries 
" Fire !" I shoots the carrion crows, as do the mischief.— 
See, feyther. Corporal Foss have given I this pair of splat- 
terdashes. He wore 'em when he went to beat tlie Spa- 
niels, at Giberalter. 

Far. I'll tell thee what, Stephen — I have a great mind 
to beat thee worse nor e'er a spaniel was beat i' the v/orld. 
I'll tire thee of soldiering, I warrant thee. Wauns ! let me 
come at him ! 

Dame. No, John. 

Mary. Hold, feyther, hold ! [Both interfering. 

Ste. Don't be so hasty, feyther. I minds my business, 



10 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act V. 

I tell 'ee. I ha' sowed three acres of barley before break- 
fast, already. 

Far. Well, come, there may be some hope, then, yet. 
And how did'st sow it, Stephen X 

Ste. I sowed it to the tune of the Belleisle March. Tol 
diddle de dol, &c. ySings, and crosses to w., and hack to l. 

Far. A plough-boy, wi' his hair dressed, sowing barley 
to the tune of the Belleisle March ! 

Stc. Well, 1 ha' got the team at the door, wi' a load of 
straw for Squire Tallyho. Woho, my hearties ! I be a 
coming to you. Feyther, CoT-poral says that our foremost 
horse, Argus, if he warn't blind, would make a genteel 
charger. 

Far. Oh, plague o' the corporal ! 

Ste. 'Twould do your heart good to hear him talk, in 
our chimney corner, about mowing down men in a field of 
slaughter. Well, well, I be a going, feyther. Woho, old 
Argus and Jolly, there ! The corporal was wounded, fey- 
ther, in the left knee, wi* a hand grenadiero. 

Far. Waiins ! an' you don't go, I'll — 

Ste. Well, well, I be going. \Sl10uldcr9J1is w}iip?\ To 
the right about, face ! \Faces about.] " God save great 
George our King !" [Exit, marching arid singing, i,. 

Far. He shan't bide on the farm : I'll turn him adrift — 
I'll — [Crosses to l. 

Mary. [Cn)ing?\ Don't ye, feyther ! don't ye be so bent 
against poor Stephen ! 

Far. Hoitytoity! and you, too! Why, the whole house 
will be turned topsy-turvy. 

Man). No, indeed, feyther. Thouoh Stephen be a lit- 
tle upset with the corporal, nobody shall turn I topsy-tur- 
vy, I do assure you, feyther. 

Eniilij Worthingfon. [Cal/Jng witltout, h.] Mary! 

Mary. There! if that ben't Miss Emily calling ! Now, 
do, feyther, do forgive brother Stephen — Coming, miss 1 
Now do, feyther. Coming ! [Exit, n. 

Far. Pretty goings on, truly ! Dang it, I wish, some- 
how, we hadn't let these lodgei^s into the house ; but 'twill 
help us out with our rent, and — 

Dame. [Skaking her head.] Ah, John Harrowby ! 

Far. Why, what now, deame 1 

Dame. By all T can pick out from the cciporal, who do 



Scene I.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 11 

love to gossip over his beer, our money be but in a ticklish 
way. 

Far. Eh ! why, hov/ so 1 

Dame. A desperate poor farail}'-, I fancy. 

Far. What, then, the lieutenant — 

Dame. Have been in the soldiering line for thirty long 
years ; but an ugly wound in his arm, nhich lie got in the 
wars beyond sea, have mgde him unfit for his work any 
moi'e, it do seem. 

Far. Poor soul ! 

Dame. He be now upon half-pay; which be little enow 
for so many mouths in one family. 

Far. Poor soul ! His landlord in Lunnun wrote un- 
common well, sure, about his character, an4 honesty, and 
so forth. 

Dame. True, John ; but he could stand it in Lunnun no 
loni2;er, you do see. 

Far. Why, lookye, deame : I didn't, of a certainty, in- 
tend to let our best parlours for nothing ; but I wish I may 
be sbot if I can give harsh treatment to an honest man, in 
misfortune, under my thatch, who ha' wasted his strength 
and his youth in guarding the land which do give us Eng- 
lish farmers a livelihood. 

Dame. Ah, John, you am at your old kind ways, now ! 

Far. Hai'k ! lie be opening the parlour door. Leave us 
together a bit, mistress; I'll speak to 'un, and — 

Dame. Well, I '11 go, John. Ah ! bless thy good old 
heart ! I do like to do a good turn myself; but, somehow, 
my old man do always get the start o' me. [Exit, l. 

Enter Lieutenant Worthington, r. d. f. 

Far. [Boiving.'] A good day to you, sir. You am wel- 
come into Kent, sir, to my humble cottage, here. 

Wor. Oh, my landlord, I suppose. Farmer Harrowby % 

Far. Yes, sir, I be Farmer Harrowby. I hope all things 
am to your liking at Stock's Grcen> sir ; I hope the lodg- 
ings, sir, and my wife, have been agreeable to you, sir, and 
BO forth. 

War. Nothing can be better. You are well situated 
nere, Mr. Harrowby. 

Far. We am all in the rough, sir — fjunner-like ; but the 
place be well enow for poor folk, sir. 



12 THE POOR G.i:NTLEMAN. [Act £. 

Wor. \ Aside.] What does he mean by that 1 

Far. I be content in my station. -There be no* reason 
■why a poor man should not be happy. 

IVbr. [Half aside.] A million ! 

Far. Am there 1 Well, now, I can't see that : for, put- 
ting the case now, sir, that you was poor, like I — 

JVor. [Angrily.] I will not suffer you, sir, to put a case 
BO familiarly curious. 

Far, Nay, I meant no offence, I'll be swoni, sir. 

Wor. But if you wish to know my sentiments, as far as 
it may concern yourself, in any money transactions between 
us, be assured of this : I have too nice a sense of a gen- 
tleman's dignity, and too strong a feeling for a poor man's 
necessity, to permit him to wait a day for a single shilling 
which I am indebted to him. 

Far. l^Asidc] Dang it ! he must be j^oor ; for your 
great gentry, now-a-.days, do pay in a clean, contrary fa- 
shion. 

JVor. \PulUng out a j)urse,] I shall settle with you for 
the lodgings, Mr. HaiTowby, weekly. One week is due 
to-day, and — 

Far. No, sir, no ; under favor, I would like it best quar- 
terly — or half-yearly — or at any long time may suit your 
conveni — I mean, may suit your pleasure, sir 

Wor. Why so \ 

Far. Because — humph ! because, sir — Pray, if I may 
make so bold, sir, how often may the pay-days come round 
with the army-gentlemen and such like '{ 

Wor. Insolent ! Receive your money, sir, and let me 
pass from your apartment. [O^crs if.. 

Far. Then I wish I may be burat if I take it now, and 
that be flat, sir ! [Rejecting it.] You am a brave, good gen- 
tleman, I be told, sir, wi' a family, and — and — and — In 
short, there am some little shopmen, in our village, who 
may press you hard to settle by the week : pay them gree- 
dy ones first, sir ; and if there be enow, at last, left for I, 
well and good : and if you am inclined for riding, sir, there 
be always a gelding at your service, without charge. I be 
a plain man, sir, but I do mean n )thing but respect ; and 
so I wish you a good day, sir. [Exit, l. 

Wor. How am I mortified ! What has this nmn heard I 
Is there a stat-e more galling than to need the decent mean? 



Scene II.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 13 

of maintaining the appearance which liberal birth, educa- 
tion and profession demand 1 Yes, yes — there is an ag- 
gravation ! 'Tis to have a daughter nursed in her father's 
afflictions, v\^ith little more to share with her, than the 
bread of his anguish, the bitter cup of his sorrows ; to see, 
while I am sinking to my grave, my friendless, motherless 
child — Let me draw a veil over this picture ; 'twere not 
philosophy, but brutahty, to look upon it unmoved ! 

[Exit, R. 
Scene II , — An AiJartment in Sir Charles Cropland's house 
— a table, gold chairs, 8(v. 

Sir Charles Cropland discovered at hreahfast — his Valet 
d.e Chamhre adjusting his hair. 

Sir C. (l.) Has old Warner, the steward, been told that 
I arrived last night 1 

Val. Yes, Sir Charles ; with orders to attend you this 
morning. 

Sir C. \Yaivning and stretching.^ What can a man of 
fashion do with himself in the country, at this dull time of 
the year 1 

Val. It is very pleasant to-day, oi^t in the park. Sir 
Charles. 

Sir C. Pleasant, you booby ! How can the country be 
pleasant in the middle of spring \ All the world's in Lon- 
don. 

Val. I think, somehow, it looks so lively, Sir Charles, 
when the corn is coming up. 

Sir C. Blockhead ! Vegetation makes the face of a 
country look frightful — it spoils hunting. Yet, as my bu- 
siness on my estate here, is to raise supplies for my plea- 
sure elsewhere, my journey is a wise one. What day of 
the month was it yesterday, when I left town on this wise 
expedition 1 

Val. The first of April, Sir Charles. 

Sir C. Umph ! When Mr. Warner comes, show him in. 

Val. I shall, Sir Charles. [Exit, r. 

Sir C. This same lumbering timber upon my ground 
has its tperits. Trees are notes issued from the bank of 
Nature, and as current as those payable to Abraham New- 
land. I must get change for a few oaks, for I want caah 
consumedly. 



14 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. Act I 

Entej' Warner r. 

So, Mr. Warner ! 

War. Your lionour is right welcome ir to Kent. I am 
proud to see Sir Charles Cropland on his estate again. I 
hope you mean to stay on the spot for some time, Sir 
Charles. 

Sir C. A very tedious time — three days, Mr. Warner. 

War. Ah, good sir ! things would prosper better if* you 
honoured us with your presence a little more. I wish you 
lived entirely upon the estate, Sir Charles. 

Sir C Thank you, Warner ; but modern men of fashion 
find it devilish difficult to live upon their estates. 

War. The country about you so charming ! 

Sir C. Look ye, Warner : I must hunt in Leicestershire 
— for that's the thing. In the frosis and the spring months, 
I must be in town, at the clubs — for that's the thing. In 
summer, I must be at the watering-places — for that's the 
thing. Now, Warner, under these circumstances, how is 
it possible for me to reside upon my estate 1 For my es- 
tate being in Kent — 

War. The most beautiful part of the country ! 

Sir C. Curse beauty ! We don't mind that in Leices- 
tershire. My estate, I say, being in Kent — 

War. A land of milk and honey ! 

Sir C. I hate milk and honey ! 

War. Aland of fat! 

Sir C. D- n your fat ! Listen to me : my estate be- 
ing in Kent — 

War. So woody ! 

Sir C. Curse the wood ! — no, that's wrong — for it's con- 
venient ; I am come on purpose to cut it. 

War. Ah ! I was afraid so ! Dice on the table, and, 
then the axe to the root ! Money lost at play, and then, 
good lack ! the forest groans for it. 

Sir C. But you are not the forest, and why the devil do 
you groan for it ] 

War. I heartily wish, Sir Charles, you may not encum- 
ber the goodly estate. Your worthy ancestors had views 
for their posterity. 

Sir C. And I shall have views for my posterity : I shall 
take special care the trees sha'n't intercept their prospect 



ScEITSlI.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 16 

Rc-ente?' Valet, r. 

Val. Mr. Ollapod, the apothecary, is in the hail, Sir 
Charles, to inquire after your health. 

Sir C. Show him in. [Exit Valet, r.] The fellow's a 
character, and treats time as he does his patients. He 
shall kill a quarter of an hour for me, this morning. In 
short, Mr. Warner, I must have three thousand pounds in 
three days. Fell timber to that amount, immediately 
'Tis my peremptory order, sir, 

IVar. I shall obey you, Sir Charles ; but 'tis with a hea 
vy heart. Forgive an old servant of the family, if he grieves 
to see you forget some of the duties for which society has 
a claim upon you. 

Si?' C. What do you mean by duties 1 

War. Duties, Sir Charles, which the extravagant man 
of property can never fulfil : such as to support the digni- 
ty of an English landholder, for the honour of old England ; 
to promote the welfare of his honest tenants ; and to suc- 
cour the industrious poor, who naturally look up to him 
for assistance. But I shall obey you, Sir Charles. [Exit, r. 

Sir C. A tiresome old blockhead ! But where is this 
Ollapod ] His jumble of physic and shooting may enli- 
ven me ; and, to a man of gallantry, in the' country, his 
intelligence is by no means uninteresting, nor his services 
inconvenient. 

Enter Ollapod, r. 

Ah ! Ollapod ! 

Oil. Sir Charles, I have the honour to be your slave ! 
Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter liere — sore 
throats were plenty — so were woodcocks. Flushed four 
couple one morning, in a half-mile walk from our town, to 
cure Mrs. Quarles of a quinsy. May coming on soon. Sir 
Charles — season of delight, love, and campaigning ! Hope 
you come to sojourn. Sir Charles. Shouldn't be always 
on the wing — that's being too flighty. [Laughing.^ He ! 
he ! he ! — Do you take, good sir 1 do you take ] 

Sir C. Oh, yes, I take. But, by the cockade in your 
hat, Dllapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avo- 
cations. 

OIL He ! he ! Yes, Sir Charles, I have now the ho- 



16 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act 1. 

nour to be cornet in the volunteer associatwn corps of our 
town. It fell out unexpected — pop, on a sudden ; like the 
going off of a field piece, or an alderman in an apoplexy. 

Sir C. Explain. 

Oil. Happening to be at home — rainy day — no going 
out to sport, blister, shoot, nor bleed — was busy behind the 
counter. — You know my shop. Sir Charles — Galen's head 
over the door — new gilt him last week, by the bye — looks 
as fresh as a pill. 

Sir C. Well, no more on that head now. Proceed. 

Oil. On that head ! [Laug/iing.] He ! he ! That's very 
well, very well indeed ! Thank you, good sir — I owe you 
one ! Churchwarden Posh, of our town, being ill of an 
indigestion, from eating three pounds of measly pork at a 
vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic for the patient, 
when who should strut into the shop but Lieutenant Grains, 
the brewer, sleek as a dray horse — in a smart scarlet jack- 
et, tastily turned up with a rhubarb-coloured lapelle ! I 
confess his figure struck me. — I looked at him, as I was 
thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a 
military ardour. 

Sir C. Inoculated ! I hope your ardour was of a favor- 
able sort. 

Oil. Ha ! ha ! That's very well — very well, indeed — 
Thank you, good sir — I owe you one ! We first talked of 
shooting — he knew my celebrity that way. Sir Charles- — 
I told him the day before, I killed six brace of birds. I 
thumped on at the mortar. — We then talked of physic : I 
told him the day before I had killed — lost, I mean, six 
brace of patients. I thumped on at the mortar, eyeing 
him all the while ; for he looked devilish flashy, to be sure ; 
and I felt an itching to belong to the corps. The medical 
and military both deal in death, you know — so 'twas natu- 
ral. He ! he ! — Do you take, good sir 1 do you take ? 

Sir C. Take ! — Oh, nobody can miss. 

Oil. He then talked of the corps itself; said it was sick- 
ly ; and if a professional person would administer to the 
liealth of the association, dose the men, and drench the 
horses, he could, perhaps, procure him a cornetcy. 

Sir C. Well, you have jumped at the offer] 

Oil. Jumped! I jumjjed over tlie counter; kicked 
down Churchwarden Posli's cathartic into the pocket )f 



ScElTElI.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN^ 17 

Lieutenant Grain's smart scarlet jacket, tastily tamed up 
with a rhubarb- colon red laptHe; embraced him and his 
offer ; and I am now Cornet Ollapod, apothecary, at tho 
Galen's Head, of the association corps of cavalry, at your 
service ! 

Si7' C. I wish you joy of your appointment. You may 
now distil water for the shop from the laurels you gather 
hi tlie field. 

OIL Water for — Oh ! laurel-water. He ! he ! Come, 
that's very well — very well, indeed ! Thank you, good 
sir — I owe you one ! Why, I fancy fame will follow, when 
the poison of a small mistake I made, has ceased to ope- 
rate. 

Si}- C. A mistake ! 

Oil. Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle, on a grand 
field-day, I clapped a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet-drink 
into one of my holsters, intending to proceed to the patient, 
after the exercise was over. I reached the martial ground 
andjalloped — galloped, I mean — wheeled and flourished 
with great eclat ; but when the word " Fire !" was given, 
meaning to pull out my pistol, in a deuce of a hurry, I pre- 
sented, neck foremost, the d d diet-drink of Lady Kit- 
ty Carbuncle ; and the medicine being unfortunately fer- 
mented by the jolting of my horse, it forced out the cork, 
with a prodigious pop, full in the face of my gallant com- 
mander. 

Sir C. But in the midst of so many pursuits, how pro- 
ceeds practice among the ladies 1 

Oil. He ! he ! I should be sorry not. to feel the pulse 
of a pretty woman now and then. Sir Charles. Do you 
take, good sir 1 do you take 1 

Sir 0. Any new faces since I left the country ? 

Oil. Nothing worth an item — nothing new arrived in our 
town. In the village, to h^\ sure, hard by, a most brilliant 
beauty has lately given lustre to the lodgings of farmer 
Harrowby. 

Sir C. Indeed ! — Is she come-at-able, Ollapod 1 

Oil. Oh, no ; full of honour as a corps of cavalry, though 
plump as a partridge, and mild as an emulsion. Misa 
Emily AVorthington, I may venture to say — 

Sir C. Hey! who? — Emily Worthington ! 

Oil. With her father-^ 



18 THE POOR GENTLLMAN. 



[Act I 



Sir C. x4.n old officer in the army '? 

Oil. The same. 

Sh- C. And a stiff maiden aunt ? 

Oil. Stiff as a ram-rod. 

Sir C. [Singing and dancing] Tol de rol lol ! 

Oil. Bless me ! he is seized with St. Vitus' dance. 

Sir C. 'Tis she., by Jupiter ! — My dear Olla^^od ! 

[Einhraces fmn, 

OIL [Rctui'ning the emhi'acc] Oh, my dear Sir Charles ! 

Sir C. The very girl who has just slipped through my 
fingers, in London! 

OIL Oh ho ! 

Sir C. You can serve me materially, Oil apod ; I know 
your good nature in a case like this, and 

OU. State the symptoms of the case, Sir Charles. 

Sir C. Oh, common enough. Saw her in London by 
accident; wheedled the old maiden aunt; kept out of the 
father's way ; followed Emily more than a month without 
success; and, eight days ago, she vanished. There's the 
outline. 

OIL I see no matrimonial symptoms in our case. Sir 
Charles. 

Sir C. 'Sdeath ! do you think me mad] But introduce 
yourself to the family, and pave the way for me. Come, 
mount your horse ; I'll explain more as you go to the sta- 
ble ; but I am in a flame — in a fever, till I hear further, 

OIL In a fever ! — I'll send you physic enough to fill a 
baggage wagon. 

Sir C. [Aside.] So, a long bill as the price of his polite- 
ness ! 

OIL You need not bleed, but you must have medicine. 

Sir C. If I must have medicine, Ollapod, I fancy I .shall 
bleed pretty freely. 

OIL [Laughing.] He ! he ! — Come, that's very well — ■ 
very well, indeed ! Thank you, good sir — I owe you one. 
Before dinnei", a strong dose of coloquiiitida, senna, scam- 
mony, and gambouge. 

Sir C. Oh ! d — n scammony and gambouge ! 

OIL At night, a narcotic ; next day, saline draughts, 
camphorated jalap, and — 

Sir C. Zounds ! only go, and I'll swallow your whole 
shop ! 



»CE»rEl.j THE POUR GENTLEMAN. 19 

Oil. Galen forbid ! 'Tis enough to kill every customer 
I have in the parish. Then we'll throw in the bark. By 
the bye, talking of bark; Sir Charles, that Juno of yours is 
the prettiest pointer bitch — 

Sir C. Well, well — she is yours. 

Oil. My dear Sir Charles ! such sport, next shootintr 
season ! If I had but a double-barrelled gun — 

!^ir C. Take mine, that hangs in the hall. 

OIL My dear Sir Charles ! \ Aside.] Here's a moming^a 
work ! [Aloud.] Senna and colinquintida — 

Sir C. \Impatienthj.] Well, be gone, then ! 

Oil. [Goi7)g.] I'm off! [Returnijig.] Scammony and gam- 
bouge — 

Sir C. Nay — fly, man ! 

Oil. [Alternately going and returning.] I do, Sir Charles. 
A double-barrelled gun ! — I fly ! — The bark — I'm going!— 
Juno, the bitch !— A narcotic — 

Sir C. Oh ! the devil ! [Fushing Jiim off, r. 

END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — The Outside of Farmer Flarrowhy' s House. 
Enter Farmer Harrowby a7id Corporal Foss, r. u. e. 

Far. (r.) We am not discoursing about your master's 
bravery, nor his ableness, Mr. Corporal ; it be about his 
goodness and that like. 

Foss. (l.) a good officer, do you see, can't help being a 
kind-hearted man ; for one of his foremost duties tells him 
to study the comforts of the poor pec>ple below him. 

Far. Dang it ! that be the duty of our churchwardens ; 
but many poor people do complain of 'em. 

Foss. An officer, Mr. Harrowby, isn't a bit like a church- 
warden. Ship off an officer, we'll say, with his company, 
to a foreign climate : he lands, and endures heat, cold, fa- 
tigue, hunger, thirst, sickness; — now marching over the 
burning plain ; now up to his knees in wet, in the trench ; 
now — Rot it, farmer ! how can a man suffer such hard- 
ships, with a parcel of honest fellows under his command, 
and not learn to feel for his fellow-creatures ? 



20 THE POOR GENTl EMAN. fAoT II. 

Far. Well, and that be true, sare ! And have your 
master, Lieutenant Worthington, learnt this % 

Foss. His honour was behjved by the whole regiment. 
When his wife was shot in his arms, as she lay in his tent, 
there wasn't a dry eye in our corps. 

Far. Shot in his arms ! And was she, though 1 

Foss. I never like to think on't, because — Pshaw ! \Wip' 
ing Jiis eyes.] I hate to be unsoldier-like ; I whimpered 
enough about it, seventeen years ago. 

Far. Nay, take no shame, Mr. Corporal, take no shame. 
Honest tears, upon honest faces, am, for all the world, like 
growing showers upon my meadows — the wet do raise 
their value. 

Foss. However, he had something left to console him, 
after her death. 

Far. And what ware that ] 

Foss. 'Twas his child, Mr. Harrowby. Our Miss Emily 
was then but three years old. I have heard his honour 
say, her mother had fled to the abode of peace, and left 
her innocent in the lap of war. 

Far. Pretty soul ! sha must ha' been quite scared and 
frightful. 

Foss. She did'nt know her danger. She little thought, 
then, that a chance-ball might take her father, too, and 
leave her a helpless orphan, in a strange country. 

Far. And if it had so fell out 1 

Foss. Why, then, perhaps, nothing would have been left 
her but a poor corporal, to buckle her on his knapsack. But 
I would have struggled hard with fortune, to rake up a lit- 
tle pittance for the child of a kind master, whom I had fol- 
lowed through many a campaign, and seen fight his first 
battle, and liis last. 

Far. Do give us your hand, Mr. Corporal. I'll be shot 
now, if 1 could see an old soldier travelling by, wi' his 
knapsack loaded in that manner, and not call him in, to 
cheer the poor soul on his journey ! 

Foss. I thank you very kindly, Mr. Harrowby ; but Pro- 
vidence ordered things otherwise ; for, on the thirteenth of 
September, in the year eighty-two, a few months after my 
poiu" mistress's death, the burstino^ of a shell in the garri- 
son crushed his honour's arm almost to shivers ; and I got 
wounded on the cap of my knee here. It disabled us both 
from ever serving again. 



SceweI.] the poor gentleman. 21 

Far. That turned out but a badish day's work, Mr. Cor- 
poral. 

Foss. It turned out one of the best day's works, for the 
service, that ever was seen, Mr. Harrowby ; for, on that 
day, our brave General Elliot gave the Frenchmen and 
Spaniards as hearty a drubbing, at Gibraltar, as ever they 
had in their lives. A true soldier, Mr. Harrowby, would 
part with all his limbs, and his life after them, rather than 
our country should have lost the glory of that day. 

Far. And how long, now, might you lay in your wounds 
and torments, Mr. Corporal % 

Foss. 'Twas some time before either of us could be mov- 
ed ; and when we could — being unfit for duty any longer 
— I followed his honour, with little Miss Emily, into Ame- 
rica, where the war was newly finished : for things are 
cheap there, Mr. Harrowby, and that best suits a lieute- 
nant's pocket. 

Far. 1 do fear it do, indeed, Mr. Corporal. 

Foss. But we had a pretty cottage in Canada, on the 
banks of the river St. Lawrence ; shut out from all the 
world, as I may say. 

Far. Desperate lonesome, sure, for soldiers, who am 
used to be in bustle. 

Foss. Why, we soon grew used to it, Mr. Harrowby ; 
and should never have left it, perhaps, if something had'nt 
called his honour, a year ago, into England. 

Far. Well, I must away about the farm ; and do tell 
your master, Mr. Corporal — tell him gently, though, for 
he be a little touchy like, I do see — that if so be things am 
cheap in America, they mayn't be found a morsel dearer 
here, when a wounded English soldier do sit at the door 
of an English farmer. [Exit, ii. 

Enter Stephen Harrov.t.y. z.. 

ibcc. \^i:^inging.] " Dumbarton's drums b^at "l>unny. Oh '" 
If you am exposed to drill a bit, corporal, now be your 
time. 

Foss. You are back early to-day, my honest lad. 

Ste. Yes : I do love to be betimes at parade. You'll 
never find I last comer, when mer am to be mustarded, 1 
ha* finished my work out right, 

Foss. You have lost no time, then. 



22 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act II 

Sic. No ; I ha* lost a cart and horses. 

Foss, Lost a cart and horses 1 

Ste. Ay, as good ; for as I ware a coming back, empty- 
handed, wi' our cart, J thought I might as well practise a 
little, as I walked by the side on't ; — so I held up my head 
— in the milentary fashion, you do know — and began a 
marching, near-foot foremost, to the tune of the British 
Grenadiers. 

Foss. Weir^ 

Stc. Dang it ! while I ware a carrying my head up, as 
straight as a hop-pole, our leading horse, blind Argus, drags 
lean Jolly, wi' the cart at his tail, into a slough. 

Foss. Zounds! so you plunged the baggage into a mo 
rass 1 

Ste. I don't know what you do call a morass : but they 
am sticking up to their necks in the mud, at the bottom of 
Waggon Lodge Field. 

Foss. Oh, fie ! you should have looked to them better. 

Ste. Looked to 'em ! Why, how could that possible be, 
mun, when you teach T to hold my nose to the clouds, like 
a j^ig in the wind 1 

Ollcupod. I 'Wit}ioyt?\^ Here, Juno ! Juno ! Put my poin- 
ter into your stable, my lad. Thank ye — if ever you're 
ill, I'll physic you for nothing. 

Stc. Oh, that be Mr. Ollapod, the pottercarrier. 

Enter Ollapod, with a douhle-har relied gun, l. 

Oil. Stephen, how's your health 1 Fine weather for the 
farmers. [Crossing to r.] Corporal, I've heard of you ; — 
charming spring for campaigning ! — I am Cornet Ollapod, 
of the Galen's head ; come to pay my respects to your fa- 
mily. Ste])hen, how's your father, and his hogs, geese, 
daughter, wife, bullocks, and so forth 1 Are the partridges 
beginning to lay yet, Stephen *? 

Ste. (l.) Am you come to shoot the young bii-ds, before 
they am hatched, wi' that double-barrelled gun, Mr. Olla- 
pod 1 

OIL (c.) Come, that's very well ! very well indeed for 
a bumpkin ! Thank you, good Stephen : I owe you half 
a one! [To Corporal Foss.\ I hope your master. Lieute- 
nant Worthington's well, whose acquaintance I covet. We 
soldiers mix together as naturally as medicine in a mortar 



8c£neI.] the poor gentleman. 23 

Foss. Is your honour in the army, then ? 

Ste. He be only a coronet in the town corpse. 

OIL [^l.'iidc.\ I wish that lout had a locked jaw! Our 
association is as fine, and, I may say, without vanity, will 
be as healthy a corps, when their spring physic is finished, 
as any regular regiment in England, 

Foss. VVhy, your honour, I have seen a good deal of ser- 
vice ill the regular way, and know nothing about associa- 
tions ; but I think, an' please your honour, if men take up 
arms to defend their countiy, they deserve to be thanked 
and respected for it ; and it doesn't signify a brass farthing 
what they are called. 

OIL Right — the name's nothing: merit's all. Rhu- 
barb's rhubarb, call it what you will. Do you take. Cor- 
poral ? do you take 1 

Foss. I never took any in all my life, an' please your ho- 
nour. 

OIL That's very well — very well, indeed ! Thank you, 
corporal ; I owe you one ! Now introduce me to the fa- 
mily. 

Foss. I can't without orders ; and his honour has walk- 
ed out. 

OIL That's right : exercise is conducive to health. I'll 
walk in. 

Foss. Under favour, your honour, I stand sentinel here, 
and I can't let a stranger j^ass without consulting the gar- 
rison. If you please to saunter about for half an hour, I 
shall speak to our ladies, and — 

0/L Well, do so. Stephen, come with me about the 
grounds. 

Ste. I don't like to march wi' you, Mr. Ollapod — you am 
no regular. Dang me if I budge wl' him, corporal, with- 
out your word of command ! 

OIL But d — n it, I'm of the cavalry ! 

Ste. No matter for that. You am upon our ground, and 
unhorsed. Now, corporal. 

OIL Well, if I must, I— 

Foss. March ! 

Sle. Come, pottercarrier. [Sings.] Tol de rol, &c, [Ex- 
eunt Stcj)hen and OUaiwd, l., and Corporal Foss into 
the house, r. u. e. 



24 THE POOR GENTLExMAN. f Act 11 

Scene II. — A Parlour in Farmer Harrowhifs House — chain 
and a table, loitli ivork-boxes, pens, ink, jyajper, ^c. 

Miss LucRETiA Mac Tab discovered looking over a shabby 
memorandum book^ r., and Emily Worthington at nee- 
dlework, L. 

LiUc. Miss Emily Worthington, you have vvoiked those 
flowers most miserably, child. 

Emily. Dear, now, I am very sorry for that, I was in 
hopes they might have sold for something in London, that 
I might have surprised my father with the money. 

Luc. Sold ! — Ah, you have none of the proper pride 
which my side of the family should have given you. But 
let me look over my expenses since we have been here. 
[Reads.]^ " To one week's washing and darning for the Ho- 
nourable Miss Jjucretia Mac Tab, one and sevenpence.'^ — By 
the bye, Miss Emily, that sprig of myrtle is thicker than a 
birch broom, and the white rose looks just like a powder- 
puff. 

Eniihj. Indeed, I copied them from nature, grand aunt. 
Luc. Grand aunt ! Y'ou know 1 hate that hideous title ; 
but 'tis the fault of your wild American education. 

Emily. Nay, there can be no fault in that ; for my dear 
father educated me himself, in our little cottage in Canada. 
Luc. He might have taught you, then, a little more re- 
spect for me, who am of the elevated part of the family. — 
\^Reads.^ ** Snuff from the chandler, a halfpenny^'' — You 
know, child, I am your relation on your deceased mother's 
side, and of the noble blood of the Mac Tabs. 

Emily. Yes, I know that now ; but my poor mother had 
no relation on her side, when her father, Lord Lofty, aban- 
doned her for marrying. 

Luc. My brother, Lord Lofty, acted as became his rank. 
You will please to recollect he was one of the oldest ba- 
rons in Scotland. 

Emily. Was he, indeed ! And you were born only three 
years after him, grand aunt ! 

Luc. Miss Emily, your ignorance is greater than — ^Ri- 
sing\ — I meant his title is one of the most ancient of the 
barony ; and he might well be offended at the marriage of 
my deceased niece, his daughter ; for, you know, your fa- 
ther is a mere But, no matter 



Scene II.] THE FOL t. GENTLEMAN 25 

Emily. Tndeetl, but it does matter, though. My father 
is a gentleman by birth, education, and manners ; and that's 
a character as well deserving respect as the proudest peer 
in the realm. 

Luc. And pray, what have T insinuated against your fa- 
ther % On the contrary, you might remember ho\y hand- 
somely I have offered him my countenance. 

Einily. I remember it was a year ago that you came, 
and said you would live with us : when your brother, Lord 
Lofty, died so much in debt, and left you destitute. 

hue. More shame for him ! But didn't I, then, affec- 
tionately fly to your father, and tell him I would allow him ' 
the honour to maintain me for the future 1 And haven't I, 
notwithstanding his obscure situation and narrow finances, 
kindly lived at the lieutenant's charge, in the most conde- 
scending way in the world ] 

Emily. Condescending ! 

Luc. Yes, Miss Emily ; but, it seems, by forgetting me, 
you forget yourself. 

E7nihj. No, indeed. I know my situation. I am a poor 
officer's child, born in the seat of war ; reared afterwards 
in the wilds of America — reared by a kind father, with 
more cost than his poverty could well bestow. He has 
dropped, in our retreat, many and many a tear of affection 
on me ; and, as often as I have seen him mourn my mo- 
ther's loss, I have wondered to think that her father, in 
splendour could be so hard-hearted, while mine, in poverty, 
was so kind ! 

L?/c. Still on the cruelty of your mother's relations ! 
But, would you be guided by me, Miss Emily, I would 
make your fortune. Had you followed my opinion, before 
we left town, relative to Sir Charles Cropland, as a hus- 
band — 

Emily Oh, pray don't mention his name ! 
Ltic. And why not, JMiss Emily ? 

Emily. Because I am sure he is a libertine. The fami- 
liar looks he srave me — 

o 

Luc. Looks! psha! Sir Charles's are the manners, child, 
of our young men of high fashion. 

Emily. 'Tis a great pity, then, ouryoungmeLof high fa. 
ehion have sf) insulting a way of noticing lowly virtue. A 
coxcomb, tliat stares humb 3 modesty out of countenanceii 



26 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. (Act II. 

must be a very cruel coxcomb ; and 'tis a sad thi^g for the 
heart to be unfeeling, when the head is empty. 

Luc. Ha ! another of your Canada crotchets, hatched 
on the banks of the St. Lawrence, where solitude sits 
brooding on romance ! But will you follow my counsel ? 

'Emily. In respect to Charles Cropland? No — never. 
You received his visits without my father's knowledge. 1 
would not wed the worthiest man without his consent ; and 
he would not command me to wed the wealthiest, whom 
I could not esteem. 

Luc. Psha ! your father's doctrines, child, have made 
him a besrorar. 

Emily. \ With icarmth.\ A beggar ! No, madam ; he is 
rich enough to shelter you, who asperse him ! 

Luc. Shelter I — Shelter, indeed, to a Mac Tab, who af 
fords him her countenance ! I shall acquaint your father, 
Miss Emily, with your rudeness to me. 

Emily. Acquaint him with all, madam. Tell him, when 

his daughter hears him misrepresented by — Tell him 

You break my heart, madam ! Tell him what you please. 

Enter Corporal Foss, r. 

Eoss. I am come, an' please you, with intelligence of — 
What, is my young lady a-crying % 

Luc. Deliver your message, fellow, and ask no ques 
lions ! 

Foss. An' please your ladyship's honour, when an old 
soldier sees a woman in distress, 'tis to be hoped he may 
take just half a moment to give her some comfort. \Cros- 
sing, L.] Miss Emily ! 

Luc. (r.) Blockhead! what excuse has a soldier for half 
a moment's delay in his business ? 

Eoss. (c.) The best excuse, an' please you, may be half 
a moment's charity. A kind commander is loth to punish 
a poor fellow for doing what Heaven rewards. [Gnng to 
Emily.] What's the matter. Miss Emily 1 

Emily, (l.) 'Tis nothing, good corporal ; lead me to the 
door of my chamber. [Foss is going. 

Luc. You may be taught your duty to me better, sir. 

Foss. I humbly beg your pardon. ; but my first duty, in 
these quarters, is to my master and his child ; I know that 
as a servant. My second is, tr a woman in grief; I am 



Scene II .1 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 27 

sure of that, as a man. My third, is to your ladyship's ho. 
nour; and I'll be back to perform it in as quick a march 
as a crii^ple can make of it. Come, Miss Emily, come ! 

[Exit; leading Emily, l. 

Luc. Provoking ! a stupid, technical old— But what can 

a woman of birth expect, when the ducks waddle into her 

drawing-room, and her groom of the chambers is a lame 

soldier of foot % 

Rc-entc7- Corporal Foss, l, 

Foss. [Crossing to u.] There is one Mr. Ollapod at the 
gate, an' please your ladyship's honour, come to pay a visit 
to the family. 

Luc. Ollapod ! What is the gentleman ] 

Foss. He says he's a cornet in the Galen's Head. 'Tis 
the first time I ever heard of the corps. 

L7W. Ha ! some new-raised I'egiment. Show the gen- 
tleman in. [Exit Foss, r.] The country, then, has heard 
of my arrival at last. A woman of condition in a family 
can never long conceal her retreat. Ollapod ! that sounds 
like an ancient name. U I am not mistaken, he is nobly 
descended. 

Enter Ollapod, r. 

OlJa. Madam, I have the honour of paying my respects. 
Sweet spot here, among the cows ; good for consumptions. 
Charming woods hereabouts ! Pheasants flourish— so do 
agues. Sorry not to see the good lieutenant — admire his 
room — hope soon to have his company. Do you take, good 
madam ? do you take 1 

Lvc. I beg, sir, you will be seated. 

Olla. [Sitti??g down, r. c] Oh, dear madam ! [Aside] A 
charming chair to bleed in ! 

Lt/c. 1 am sorry Mr. Worthington is not at home to re- 
ceive you, sir. 

Olla. You are a relation of the lieutenant, madam ? 

Li/c.ll only by his marriage, I assure you, sir. Aunt 
to his. deceased wife. But 1 am not surprised at your 
question. My friends in town would wonder to see the 
Honourable Miss Lucretia Mac Tab, sister to the late Lord 
Lofty, coojjed up in a farm-house, 

Olla. [Aside] The Honorable ! Humph! a bit of qua- 



28 THE POOR GENTLEMA^. [AcT II. 

lity tumbled into decay. The sister of a dead peer in a 
pig-stye ! 

Luc. You are of the military, I am informed, sir. 

Olla. He ! he ! yes, madam. Cornet Ollapod, of on 
volunteers — a fine healthy troop, ready to give the enemy 
a dose, whenever they dare to attack us. 

Lite. I was always prodigiously partial to the military. 
My great grandfather, Marmaduke, Baron Lofty, com 
manded a troop of horse, under the Duke of Marlborough, 
that famous general of his age. 

Olla. Marlborough was a hero of a man, madam, and 
lived at Woodstock — a sweet sporting country, where Ro- 
samond perished by poison — arsenic, as like as anything. 

Luc. And have you served much, Mr. Ollapod 1 

Olla. He ! he ! Yes, madam — served all the nobility 
and gentry for miles round. 

Luc. Sir ! 

Olla. And shall be happy to serve the good lieutenant 
and his family. [Bows. 

Luc. We shall be proud of your acquaintance, sir. A 
gentleman in the army is always an acquisition among the 
Goths and Vandals of the country, where every sheepish 
squire has the air of an apothecary. 

Olla. Madam ! An apothe — Zounds ! — hum ! — He ! 
he ! I — You must know I — [Shcejyishli/,] I deal a little in 
Galenicals myself. 

Luc. Galenicals ! Oh, they are for operations, I sup- 
pose, among the military. 

Olla. Operations ! He ! he ! Come, that's very well, 
very well indeed ! Thank you, good madam, I owe you 
one. Galenicals, madam, are medicines. 

Luc. Medicines ! 

Olla. Yes, physic : buckthorn, senna, and so forth. 

Lmc. [Risi?ig.\ Why, then, you are an apothecary ! 

Olla. [Rising and bowing.] And man mid-wife at your 
service, madam ! 

Luc. At my service, indeed ! 

Olla. Yes, madam : Cornet Ollapod, at the gilt Galen's 
Head — of the volunteer association coi-jis of cavalry ; as 
ready for the foe as a customer — always willing to charge 
tiiem both. Do you take, good madam 1 do you take ? 



SCBHEII.] THE POOFw GENTLEMAN. 29 

Luc. And has the Honourable Miss Lucretia Mac Tab 
been talking all this while to a petty dealer in drugs 1 

Olla. Drugs ! [Aside.] D — me ! she turns up her honor- 
able nose as if she was going to swallow them ! — [Aloud.] 
No man more respected than myself, madam ; — courted 
by the corps — idolized by invalids ; and for a shot, ask my 
friend, Sir Charles Cropland. 

Luc. Is Sir Charles Cropland a friend of yours, sir? 

Olla. Intimate. He doesn't make wry faces at physic, 
whatever others may do, madam. This village flanks the 
intrenchments of his park — full of fine fat venison, which 
is as light a food for digestion as — 

Luc. But he is never on his estate here, I am told. 

Olla. He quarters there at this moment. 

Luc. Bless me ! has Sir Charles, then — 

Olla. Told me all — your accidental meeting in the me- 
tropolis, and his visits when the lieutenant was out. 

Luc. Oh, shocking ! — I declare I shall faint ! — 

Olla. Faint ! — Never mind that, with a medical man in 
the room ; I can bring you about in a twinkling. 

Luc. And what has Sir Charles Cropland presumed to 
advance about me % 

Olla. Oh, nothing derogatory — respectful as a duck-leg- 
ged drummer to a commander-in-chief. 

Luc. I have only proceeded in this affair from the purest 
motives, and in a mode becoming a Mac Tab. 

Olla. None dare to doubt it. 

Luc. And if Sir Charles has dropped in to a dish of tea 
with myself and Emily, in London, when the lieutenant 
was out, I see no harm in it. 

Olla. Nor I neither ! except that tea shakes the nervous 
system to shatters. But to the point : the baronet's my 
bosom friend ! — having heard you were here, " Ollapod," 
says he, squeezing my hand in his own, which had strong 
symptoms of fever, "Ollapod," says he, "you are a milita- 
ry man, and may be trusted." " I'm a cornet," says I, 
" and close as a pill-box." " Fly, then, to Miss Lucretia 
Mac Tab, that honorable picture of prudence " 

Luc. He ! he !— Did Sir Charles say that ] 

Olla, [Aside.] How these tabbies love to be toaded ? 

Luc In short, Sir Charles, I perceive, has appointed 



dtl THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act Ilf. 

you lis emissary, to consult with rne when he may have 
an interview. 

Olla. Madam, you are the sharpest shot at the truth t 
ever met in my life. And now we are in consultdtion, 
wiiat think you of a walk with MissEmily by the old elms, 
at the back of the village, this evening 1 

Lite. Why, I am willing to take any steps which may 
promote Emily's future welfare. 

Olla. Take steps ! — What, in a walk 1 He ! he ! 
Come, that's very well — very well, indeed ! Thank you, 
good madam ; I owe you one ! I shall communicate to 
my friend with due dispatch. Command Cornet Ollapod 
on all occasions; and whatever the gilt Galen's Head caii 
produce — 

Luc. [Curtsey mg.] Oh, sir! 

Olla. By the bye, I have some double-distilled lavender 
water, much admired in our corps. Permit me to send a 
pint bottle, by way of present. 

Luc. Dear sir, I shall rob you. 

Olla. Quite the contrary — [Asidc.]^ for I'll set it down 
to Sir Charles as a quart. [Boivhig to hcr.]^ Madam, your 
slave ! [GoiJig, r.] You have prescribed for our patient 
like an able physician. [She crosses, r.] Not a step I 

Luc. Nay, I insist 1 

Olla. Then I must follow in the rear : the physician al- 
ways before the apothecary. 

Luc. Apothecary ! — Sir, in this business, I look upon 
you as a general officer. 

Olla. Do you 1 Thank you, good ma'am ; I owe you 
one ! [Exeunt, r. 

END OF ACT 11. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — An Apartment in Sir Robert Brajnhle's House — 
Chairs, 8fc. 

Enter Sir Rorert Bramble and Huinipiirey Dobijins, r. 
Sir R. I tell you what, Humphrey Dobbins — there isn'f 



ScKNE l.j THE POOR GENTLEMAN 31 

a syllable of sense in all you have been saying; but, 
I suppose, you will maintain that there is 1 

Dob. Yes. 

Sir R. Yes ! — Is that the way you talk to me, you olJ 
boar 1 What's my name ] 

Dob. Robert Bramble. 

Sir R. Ar'n't I a baronet— Sir Robert Bramble, of Black- 
berry Hall, in the county of Kent] 'Tis time you should 
kno'w it ; for you have been my clumsy, two-fisted valet- 
de-chambre these thirty years. Can you deny that] 

Dob. Umph! 

Sir R. Umph ! — What the devil do you mean by umph ! 
Open the rusty door of your mouth, and make your ugly 
voice walk out of it. Why don't you answer my ques- 
tion ] 

Dob. Because, if I contradicted you there, I should tell 
a lie ; and whenever I agree with you, you are sure to fall 
out. 

Sir R. Humphrey Dobbins, I have been so long endea- 
vouring to beat a few brains inio your pate, that all your 
hair has tumbled oft" it, before I can carry my point. 

Dob. What then ] Our parson says, my head is an em- 
blem of both our honours. 

Sir JR. Ay, because honours, like your head, are apt to 
be empty. 

Dob. No ; but if a servant has grown bald under his 
master's nose, it looks as if there was honesty on one side, 
and regard for it on t'other. 

Sir R. Why, to be sure, old Humphrey, you are as ho 
nest a — Pshaw! the parson means to palaver us! — But, 
to return to my position — I tell you, I don't like your flat 
contradiction. 

Dob. Yes, you do. 

Sir R. 1 tell you, I don't. I only love to hear men's 
arguments, and I hate their flummery. 

Dob. What do you call flummery 1 

Sir R. Flattery, you blockhead !— d dish too often served 
up by paltry poor men to paltry rich ones. 

Dob. T never serve it up to you. 

Sir R. No, I'll be sworn : you give m.e a dish of a dif* 
ferent description. 

Dob. Umph ! — What is it ] 



^2 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act lit 

Su R. Sour krout, you old ci'ab. 

Doh. I have held you a stout tug at argumnnt thiis many 
\ year. 

Sir R. And yet I could never teach you a syllogism, — 
Now, mind : when a ]:)Oor man assents to what a rich man 
says, I suspect he means to flatter him. Now I am rich, 
and hate flattery ; ergo, when a poor man subscribes to my 
o])inion, I hate him. 

Dob. That's wrong. 

Sh' R. Very well — ncgatur. Now prove it 

Doh. Put the case so, then : I am a poor man — 

Sir R. You lie, you scoundrel ! — You know you shall 
never want while I have a shilling. 

Doh. Bless you ! * 

Sir R. Psha ! — Proceed. 

Doh. Well, then, I am a poor 1 must be a poor man 

now, or I shall never get on. 

Sir R. Well, p^et on — be a poor man ! 

Dob. I am a poor mail, and 1 argue with you, and con 
vince you you are wrong; then you call yourself a block 
head, and I am of your opinion. Now, that's no flattery. 

Sir R. Why, no ; but when a man's of the same opinion 
with me, he puts an end to the argument, and that puts an 
end to conversation ; so I hate him for that. But where's 
my nephew, Frederick 1 

Dob. Been out these two hours. 

Sir R. An undutiful cub! only arrived from Russia last 
night ; and though 1 told him to stay at home till 1 rose, 
he's scampering over the fields like a Calmuc Tartar. 

Dob He's a line fellow. 

Sir R. He has a touch of our family. Don't you think 
he's a little like me, Humphrey? 

Dob. Bless you, not a bit : you are as ugly an old man 
as ever I clapped my eyes on. 

Sir R. Now, that's d — d impudent ! But there's no flat- 
tery in it, and it keeps up the independence of argument. 
His father, my brother Job, is of as tame a spirit Hum- 
phrey, you remember my brother .Job ] 

Dob. Yes ; you drove him U) Russia, five and twenty 
years ago. 

Sir R. [jingril]/.] I drove hiia ! 



Scene I] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 98 

Doh. Yes, you did : you would never let him be at peaco 
in the way of argument. 

Sir R. At peace ! — Zounds ! he would never go to war. 

Doh. He had the meiit to be calm. 

Sir R. So has a duck-pond. He was a bit of still life ; 
a chip ; weak water-gruel ; a tame rabbit, boiled to rags, 
without sauce or salt. He received men's arguments with 
his jnourh open, like a poor's-box gaping for half-pence; 
and, good or bad, he swallowed them all, without any re- 
sistance. We couldn't disagree, and so we parted. 

Dob. And the poor, meek gentleman went to Russia for 
a quiet life. 

Sir Br. A quiet life ! — Why, he married the moment he 
got there ; tacked himself to the shrew relict of a Russian 
merchant ; and continued a speculation with her in furs, 
flax, pot-ashes, tallow, linen, and leather. And what's the 
consequence 1 Thirteen months ago, he broke. 

Doh. Poor soul ! his wife should have followed the bu- 
siness for him. 

Sir R. I fancy she did follow it, for she died just as it 
went to the devil. And now this mad-cap, Frederick, is 
sent over to me for protection. Poor Job ! now he's in 
distress, I mustn't neglect his son. 

[Frederick is heard singing tvithout, l. 

Doh. Here comes his son — that's Mr. Frederick. 

Enter Frederick, l. 

Fre. Ah ! my dear uncle, good morning ! Your park 
is nothing but beauty. 

Sir R. Who bid you caper over my beauty] I told 
you to stay in d(jors till I got u]). 

Fre. Eh 1 — Egad ! so you did. I had as entirely for- 
gotten it as — 

Sir R. And, pray, what made you forget it 1 

Fre. The sun. 

Sir R. The sun 1 — He's mad ! You mean the moon, 1 
believe. 

Fre. Oh, my dear sir! you don't know the effect of a 
fine S[jbi'ing moining upon a young fellow just arrived from 
Russia. The day looked bright — trees buddinjj — birds 
singing — the park was gay — so, egad ! I took a hop, step, 
and a jump, out if your old balcony ; made your deer fly 



34 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 



[Act III 



before me like the wind ; and chased them all round the 
park to get an appetite, while you were snoring in Led, 
uncle ! 

Sir R, Ah ! so the effect of an English sun upon a young 
Russian, is to make him jump out of a balcony, and worry 
my deer 1 

Fre. I confess it had that influence upon me. 

Sir R. You had better be influenced by a rich old uncle, 
unless you tliink the sun likely to leave you a fat legacy. 

Frc. Sir, I hate fat legacies. 

Sir R. Sir, that's mighty singular. They are pretty 
solid tokens of kindness, at least. 

Frc. Very melancholy tokens, uncle ; they are the pos- 
thumous despatches Affection sends to Gratitude, to in- 
form us we have lost a generous friend. 

Sir R. [Aside.] How charmingly the dog argues ! 

Fre. But I own my spirits ran away with me this morn- 
ing. I will obey you better in future ! for they tell me 
you are a very worthy, good sort of old gentleman. 

Sir R. Now who had the familiar impudence to tell you 
that 1 

Fre, (l.) Old Rusty, there. 

Sir R. (c.) Why, Humphrey, you didn't 1 

Dob. (r.) Yes, but I did, though. 

Fre. Yes, he did ; and, on that score, I shall be anxious 
to show you obedience ; — for 'tis as meritorious to attempt 
sharing in a good man's heart, as it is paltry to have de- 
signs upon a rich man's money. A noble nature aims its 
attentions full breast high, uncle ; a mean mind levels its 
dirty assiduities at the pocket. 

Sir R. [Emhracing him.] Jump out of every window I 
have in my house ! hunt my deer into high fevers, my fine 
fellow ! — Ay, d — n it ! this is spunk and plain speaking ! 
Give me a man who is always plumping his dissent to my 
doctrine smack in my teeth ! 

Fre. I disagree with you there, uncle. 

Doh. So do I. 

Frc. You, you forward J^uppy ! — If you were not so old, 
I'd knock you down. 

Su- R. I'll knock you down if you do ! I won't have 
ray servants thumped into dumb flattery ; I won't let you 
teach 'em to make silence a toad-eater. 



Scene I.l THE POOR GENTLEMAN. ^ 

Doh. Come, you're ruffled. Let's go tc the business of 
the morning. 

Sir R. D — n the business of the morning ! Don't you 
see we're engaged in discussion % I hate the business of 
the morning ! 

Dob. No, you don't. 

Sh' R. And why not % 

Doh. Because 'tis charity. 

Sir R. Psha! — Well, we musn't neglect business. It 
there be any distresses in the parish, read the morning list, 
Humphrey. 

VoIj. [ Taking out a jmpcr, and looking over it.^ Jonathan 
Huggins, of Muck Mead, is put into prison. 

Sir R. Why, 'twas but last week. Gripe, the attorney, 
recovered two cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds, 

Doh. And charged a hundred and ten for his trouble. So 
seized the cottages for part of his bill, and threw Jonathan 
in gaol for the remainder. 

Sir R. A harpy ! — I must relieve the poor fellow's dis- 
tress. 

Fre. And I must kick his attorney. 

Dob. \Loo/dng at the list.] The curate's horse is dead. 

Sir R. Psha ! there's no distress in that. 

Dob. Yes, there is, to a man who must go twenty miles 
every Sunday to preach three sermons, for thirty pounds 
a year. 

Sir R. Why won't Punmock, the vicar, give him ano- 
ther nag 1 

Dob. Because 'tis cheaper to get another curate ready 
mounted. 

Sir R. What's the name of the black pad I purchased 
last Tuesday at Tunbridge 1 

Dob. Beelzebub. 

Sir R. Send Beelzebub to the curate, and tell him to 
work him as long as he lives. 

Frc. And if you have a tumble-down tit, send him to the 
vicar, to give him a chance of breaking his neck. 

SirR. What else 1 

Dob. Somewhat out of the common. There's one Lieu- 
tenant Worthington, a disabled officer and a widr wer, come 
to lodge at Farmer Harro why's, in the village. He's pla- 



36 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [AcT III 

guy poor indeed, it seems, but more proud than poor, and 
more honest than proud. ^ 

Frc. That sounds hke a nohlc character. 

Sir R. And so he sends to me for assistance % 

Doh. He'd see you hanged first ! Harrowby says, he'd 
sooner die than ask any man for a shilling. There's his 
daughter, and his dead wife's aunt, and an old corporal 
that has served in the wars with him ; he keeps them all 
upon his half-pay. 

Sir R. Starves them all, I am afraid, Humphrey. 

Fre. [Crossing to r.] Uncle, good morning. 

Sir R. Where the devil are you rnnninp now ? 

Fi'e. To talk to Lieutenant Worthington. 

Sir R. And what may you be going to say to him t 

Frc. I can't tell till I encounter him ; and then, uncle, 
when I have an old gentleman by the hand, who is disa- 
bled in his country's service, and struggling to support his 
motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant, in 
honourable indigence, impulse will supply me with words 
to exj^ress my sentiments. [Hurrying off. 

Sir R. Stop, you rogue ! — I must be before you in this 
business. 

Frc. That depends upon who can run fastest. So start 
fair, uncle ; and here goes ! [Exit hastily, r. 

Sir R. Stop! why, Frederick ! — A jackanapes! to take 
my department out of my hands ! I'll disinherit the dog 
for his assurance ! 

Doh. No, you won't. 

Sir R. Won't 1 1 D— me, if I— But we'll argue that 
point as we go. Come along, Humphrey ! [Exeunt, r. 

Scene H. — The Exterior of Farmer Harroivhy's House. 

Enter Corporal Foss, l., aiid crossing to r., followed hy 
Stephen Harrowby. 

Ste. [Calling after hi?n.] Hollo! I say, Mr. Corporal! 
Foss. Ah, Master Stephen ! is it you 1 
Ste. W^hat do you think I ha' been about ! 
Foss. Getting the cart and horses out of the mud, I sup- 
pose. 

Ste. No ; feyther's head man be gone to dextricate the 



SCEKE II.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 37 

cattle. But you was telling I t'other clay, you do know, 
about a springing up of a mine, which be done by a man 
they do call a pie on an ear. 

Pass. A pioneer is our name for it, my honest lad. — Ay, 
I have seen some of that work in my day. Master Stephen. 
If we could but get a little spot of ground, now, with a b^t 
<^»^ good-for-nothing building upon it — 

Sfe. I ha' found out just such a pleace, Mr. Corporal. 

Foss. Then I'll show you the whole process. 

Sfe. I ha' done the whole progress myself. 

Foss. Have you 1 

Sfe. You do know feyther's pig-sty 1 

Foss. Yes : it stands on the edge of the dry ditch, at 
the back of the house, 

Sfe. That's where it did use to stand, sure enow ; but I 
ha* blowed it up with gunpowder. 

Foss. The devil you have ! — And how 1 

Sfe. All according to rule, mun — just as you laid it 
down. I bored a hole under the ditch wi' the peel o^ our 
oven, and then 1 laid in my bumbustibles. 

Foss. Well 1 

Sfe. Why, I clapped the kitchen poker to un, red hot; 
and it all went up wi' a desperate complosion, just as you 
destroyed that outlandish buttery. 

Foss. Bless us. Master Stephen ! then you have ruined 
the town in cold blood, and killed all the inhabitants ! 

Sfe. No ; the inhabitants am lying in the ditch, as pert 
as daisies ; only the little pigs am singed quite bald, and 
the old white sow be as black as the devil. 

Enfe?- Mary, l. 

Mari/. Brother Stephen ! come here, brother Stephen. 
Feyther do vow vengeance against ye. If you do go on 
o' this fashion, what will the neighbors call ye, Stephen ] 

Sfe. Call me ! — Why, a perspiring young hero, of five 
foot six inches, willing to mortalize himself in the field of 
March ! 

Fnfer Lieutenant Worthington, l., — Jie crosses and exits 
info house, r. u. e. 

Foss. There — his honour is come home ; I must gf) iu 
for orders. 



38 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. •^A.cT III 

Ma?}/. Oh, Mr. Corporal, Joe Shambles, the butcher's 
boy, ha' brought this from our town for your master. 

[Gives a letter. 

Foss. One letter ! Is this all he left for us, my pretty 
maid 1 

Mary. No ; he left a leg of mutton. 

Foss. Oh ! [Exit into the house, R, u. E. 

Ste. How stately Mr. Corporal do march, surely ! He 
be as upright as our gander. Come, Mai-y ; afore feyther 
do come home, let's you and I go wash the gunpowder 
pigs. 

Marij. How, Stephen 1 

Ste. We'll go to the dairy, and chuck 'em into the milk 
pails. 

Farmer Harrowhy. [Calling icithout, l.] Stephen ! 

Ste. Wauns ! there be feyther ! — Run, Mary, run ! 

[Exeunt into the house, r. u. e. 

Scene IH. — The Parlour in Farmer Harrowhy's House — 
tahle and chairs, c. 

Enter Lieutenant Worthington and Corporal Foss, r. 

Wor. Where are the ladies, corporal ? 

Foss. They are gone to take a walk, an' please your 
honour. 

^Vor. [Seating himself.^ Oh ! mine has somewhat fa- 
tigued me. 

Foss. Under favour, I think your honour takes too much 
exercise ; it always brings on the torme.it in your wound 
again. 

Wor. You bustle about for me more than I could wish, 
corporal. You got your w^ound in an ugly jilace, you 
know. 

Foss. I got it at Gibraltar — the same ugly place with 
your honour. That cursed shell struck us both together. 

Wor. [Sighing.^ I remember it did, corporal. 

Foss. And when I lay on the ground, and your honour's 
left arm was so terribl; wounded, you stretched out your 
right to help me. 

Wor. T don't rememb«»r that, corporal. 

Foss. Don't you 'i — But I do ; [ Warmly.] and I wish I 
may be damned if ever I *brget it ! 



ScEWE III.] " THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 39 

IVo?'. Well, well ! do not let us swear about it, corpo- 
ral. 

Foss. I hate swearing, your honour, as much as our chap- 
lain loved brandy ; but when a man's heart's too full, I 
fancy, somehow, there's an oath at the top on't, and when 
that pops out, he's easy. Ah ! we had warm work that 
day, your honour. 

Wo/\ We had indeed, corporal. 

Foss. There was Crillon's batteries, and four thousand 
men, behind us at land. 

JVor. Moreno, with his fleet, before us at sea. 

Foss. At ten in the morning, the Spanish admiral began 
his cannonade. 

Wor. Our battery from the king's bastion opened di- 
I'ectly. 

Foss. Red-hot shot poured from the garrison ! 

Wor. Cannons roar ! 

Foss. Mortars and howitzers ! 

Wor. The enemy's shipping in flames! 

Foss. Fire again ! 

Wor. They burn ! 

Foss. They blow up ! 

Wor. They sink ! 

Foss. Victory ! — " Old England forever, your honour!" 
Huzza! 

*' TFor. Ay, corporal, against the world in arms. Old 
*' England forever !" 

Balk. Huzza ! 

Foss. [Gravehj, after a 2)ttusc.] We have no limbs to help 
our country now ; — we shall never fight for her again, your 
honour ! 

Wor. [Mournfully.] No, corporal ; 'tis impossible ! 

Foss. 13ut our hearts are for our country still ! though 
your honour has only half-pay, and I am but an out-pen- 
sioner of Chelsea. 

Wor. W.e have no right to complain, corjioral. National 
bwmty, beyond its limits, would be national waste ; and 
'tis impossible to provide sum])tuously for all. 

Foss. That's true, your honour f every hero that loses 
his life in the field, must not expect a marble monument. 

Wor. 'Tis of little import, corporal : a gallant soldier's 
memory will flourish, though humble turf be osier-bound 



40 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Aci III, 

upon his grave The tears of his country will moisten it, 
and vigorous laurel sprout among the cypress that shadows 
his remains. But 'tis a bitter thought, when we must de- 
part, to leave unprotected the few who are joined with us 
in the ties of affection, and the bonds of nature ! 

Foss. Your honour is joined in no bond with any body 
but Mr. Burford for five hundred pounds. 

Wor. [S?)iihng.] I did not mean that, corporal. There, 
however, I am easy : my friend has strict honour ; and, 
should he die; the regular insurance of his life secures me 
from injury in lending him my name. But 'tis strange I 
have not heard from him. 

Foss. I had forgot ; here is a letter just brought for your 
honour. Shall I break the seal 1 

Wor. Let me see. [Ojycning it and reading.] " Tun- 
hridge.^^ 'Tis written in the neigbouring town. Who 
should know me there ? [Readhig .] " Sir, I am instructed 
hy Mr. Ferret, solicitor, of London, to inform you, that Mr. 
Burford died, on the 2Qth idtimo, on his icay to the insurance 
office ; whereby the policy, icliich had cxjyired, the day before, 
is become void, and. the bond and ivarrant of attorney for five 
hundred founds, remain in force against you. If the money 
he not paid forthwith, I shcdl enter v.p judgment, instantly, 
for the recovery of the sa)7ie.'" My child ! my child ! [Siriks 
into a chair. 

Foss. Your honour ! 

Wor. Ruined past hope ! 

Foss. ^Apiiroaching him.] Don't say that, your honour ; 
for while yoUr half-jiay continues — 

Wor. My creditor will grasp all ! my person seized, and 
my poor child destitute ! 

Foss. Destitute! — What, my young mistress 1 — And 
you 1 and — Don't give way to grief, your honour ! I am 
lame to be sure, but I am fit for labour still. There's my 
little penpion, too, from Chelsea. Things may come about; 
and, till they do, you and my young mistress shall never 
know want, while the old corporal has a limb le'ft to work, 
or a penny in his pocket. 

Wor. Corporal, I — 

Enter Frederick hastily, r. 
Fre. [Aside.] Yes, this is he I Zounds ' I am quite out 



Scene III.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 41 

of breath! [To WortJiington.] Sir, I am come to — Whew! 
I beg* pardon : but, as you perceive, I am deviHsh blown ! 

War. Leave us, corporal. [Exit Foss, r.] At your lei- 
sure sir, I shall be glad to knovv whom I have the honour 
of addressing. 

Fre. I am Frederick Bramble, sir ; my uncle. Sir Ro- 
bert Bramble, lives at the foot of this infernal hill. He 
fixed his house there, I fancy, for the sake of argument ; 
because mosL men maintain it is bad to build in a bottom. 
He is as charitable as a Christian, sir, and as rich as a Jew. 

Wo?'. 1 give you joy of a relation, sir, who has so much 
virtue, with so much wealth. When fortune enriches the 
benevolent, the goddess removes the bandage from her 
brow, that she may bestow a gift with her eyes open.-— 
But as I am a stranger here, and a recluse, I have no right 
to enter further into your uncle's character. 

Frc. Yet he has just now, sir, taken a right to enter into 
yours. 

JVor. May he not rather have taken a liberty, sir ? 

Fre. 'Tis his duty to be the most inquisitive fellow in 
the neighborhood. 

IVor. 'Tis a strange duty for a gentleman. 

Fre. I hope not, in this country, sir. If a gentleman be 
in the commission of the peace, and living on his own es- 
tate, he should be anxious, I think, to inquire into the con- 
duct of those around him, that he may distribute justice as 
a magistrate, and kindness as a man. 

War. But hovv can your uncle's principle apply to me, 
sir — a secluded sojourner, with a quiet family, lodging with 
one of his tenants ? 

Fre. Why, he has heard of the — hem ! — that is, I mean 
— the — peculiarity of your situation. 

Wor. [Haughtily.] Sir! 

Fre. [Aside.] I shall make a bungling business of- this, 
after all ! [Aloud.] I say, sii-, that my uncle, as 1 told you, 
is a warm old heart, v/ho busies himself in learning the 
circumstances of everybody about him, and — 

Wor. The circumstances I 

Fre. Yes ; — and so Humphrey Dobbins, a stupid old ser- 
vant, among other intelligence this morning, happened to 

— to mention you, and Damn it, sir ! the truth's the 

truth ! 1 ran here to prevent my uncle ofi'ering his as- 



42 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 



[Act III 



sistaiice too bluntly, and I fear 1 have done it too bluntly 
myself. 

War. It would be absurd, sir, to affect blindness to the 
motives of your visit ; I see them clearly, and thank you 
cordially. You have touched the heart of a veteran sol- 
dier, but g-o no further : if you proceed, you will wound 
the dignity of a gentleman. 

Frc. I came here to heal wounds — by my soul, I did ! 
'Tis not in my nature to inflict them, I am new in Eng- 
land, ignorant in the manners of the country ; for I arrived 
here last night from Russia, where I was born ; — but, sure- 
ly, surely it cannot be offensive, in any part of the globe, 
to tell the afflicted we feel for them. Pray give me your 
hand ! 

War. Take it, sir — take it ! Receive the grasp of gra- 
titude, and be gone ! 

F/e. Not till you first permit me to — 

TVo?\ I can accept no favours of the nature you offer, 
where I have no claim ; and what claim, young man, can 
I have upon your attentions ? 

Frc. The claim each man has in common upon his fel- 
low. We are all passengers on life's highway ; and when 
a traveller sticks in the mire on the road, the next that 
comes by is a brute, who doesn't stretch out a hand to ex- 
tricate him, 

JVor. That may hold in the courtesies of life ; but I do 
not admit it as an argument in essentials. 

Fre. Then I wish my uncle were here, with all my heart, 
sir ; he'd argue this point with you, or any other, to all 
eternity. 

JVor. I v/ant no arguments upon points of honour; ho- 
nour, the offspring of honesty, dictates for itself. 

Frc. Sir, 1 respect it, for its parent's sake, though the 
child is a little maddish : for honour is sometimes cutting 
throats, where honesty would be shaking hands. But let 
let me entreat you to relax — to be persuaded. Come, my 
dear sir ; true honour, I trust, can never have reason to 
blush, because honesty is assisted. 

JVor. [After a j^ause.] You have burst upon me at a cri- 
tical, a trying moment. I have a family — a beloved child, 
from whom I may be shortly torn, without the means of-— 
No matter 1 Even the griefs that inwardly wring me. 



Scene III.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 43 

would not force me to unbend, were tljere not a native in- 
gHnuousTiciss in your manner which wins me. To you, 
in en — to a youthful stranger, whose sympathy comes o'er 
a rugged sohlier's nature, as pictured Love bestrides the 
lion, — to you I will owe a temporary obligation. 

Fre. Will you 1 Then you have made me the happiest 
dog that — \Searc7iing his pockcU^ Eh ! — No ! zounds ! I 
mean, sir, you have made me look the silliest dog in the 
World ! 

War. What do you mean 1 

Fre, In my haste to do service, I never once recollected 
I wanted the means : my heart was so full, that I quite 
forgot my pockets were empty. 

Wor. I cannot think, young man, you came here to in- 
sult me. 

Fre. Insult ! — Oh, my dear sir ! you do not know me — 
- you may soon. I have !eft a father in embarrassments in 
Russia ; — I have landed here, dependent on an uncle's 
bounty ; and paid my last shilling to the coachman, who 
set me down at his gate ; — but my relation is as generous 
as a prince ; he will, I am sure, give me a supply, and 
then — 

Wor. And then 1 would not, for worlds, draw upon your 
little store. You have a superior call, it seems, upon you 
— a parent in distress. 

Fre. My father's involvements, no doubt, will be his 
brother's care : and if — 

Wor. No more — no more ! I see the workings of your 
heart. Farewell ! [Cros.vng, u.] Re23ine not that your will 
to do good actions outruns your power. Had the widow 
been without her mite, and simply dropped a tear for po- 
verty on the moist shrine f)f compassion, it would have se- 
cui-ed to her a page in Heaven's register ! \^Exit, r. 

Fre. Now this is all very pretty rhodomontade ; and I'll 
go directly and argue that it is so, with my uncle, for the 
good of the bluff veteran. A wido\y's weeping for distress 
may water the road pleasantly enou'T^h for herself to para- 
dise, but if she could shed peck loaves instead of tears, it 
would be twenty times better for the poor's-box. 

[ Exit, L. 

END OF ACT III. 



44 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act IV. 

ACT IV. 
Scene 1. — A Wood skirting a Village. 

'Enter Sm Charles Cropland ani^ Ollapod, r. 

Sir C. I'm as chilly as a bottle of port in a hard frost. 
This is your English spring, that our shivering poets cele- 
brate by a fireside, if they can g^t one, and sing of basking 
shepherds making love in the sun ! I'm as amorous as an 
Arcadian, but it's cursed cold in Kent, for all that ! Are 
you sure these women will come, Ollapod ] 

Olla. Sure as death ! as I tell my patients. 

Sir C. They find that, sure enough. 

Olla. He ! he ! Yes, Sir Charles ; I never deceive 
them. Called in last week to Captain Custard, of our 
corps, who was shovelled off by a surfeit. " Dearest 
friend," says I, looking in his fat face, *' be firm. Candour 
compels me to say. Now I'm come, you can't live." He 
didn't. " You shall be buried with military honours." 
He was ! Attended him from beginning to end^doctor 
and mourner — bed and grave ; — physicked him first, shot 
over him afterwards. Poor fellow ! a good officer, an ex- 
cellent pastry-cook, a prodigious eater, and a profitable pa- 
tient ! 

Sir C. Confound Captain Custard ! 1 am thinking of a 
fine girl, and you are panegyrising a dead pastry-cook ! 
These women will disappoint us at last. 

Olla. Then there's no honour in the Honourable Miss 
Mac Tab. 

Sir C. You didn't see Emily? 

Olla. No. 

Sir C. Psha ! all is uncertainty — I shall lose the golden 
fruit at last. 

Olla. D — d hard, aftfjr I've given the dragon a dose !— 
Do you take, good sir ] do you take 1 

*S//' G. t wish the dragon had wings, then, to move a lit- 
tle faster. This sharp north-easterly wind will prevent 
their walking. 

Olla. 1 hope not, Sir Charles ; [Aside,] for they'll get a 
cursed cold, and want an apothecary ! 



Scene I.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 45 

Si?' C. Stay ! I think I see a petticoat. 

Olla. Mark ! 'tis an old bird — the Honou: able Miss Mac 
Tab, in a jog-trot. 

Sir O. And Emily with her, by all that's beautiful ! 

Olla. Yes, that's she — as fine a woman as ever srneltsal 
volatile ! There's the game, Sir Charles: j^ou've nothing 
to do but to kill. 

Sir C. Step aside, or our meeting will be too abrupt. — 
We must kill by rule here, Oil apod. 

Olla. Kill by rule ! — With all my heart : 'tis a method 
I've long been used to. ^They retire, r. 

Enter Miss Lucretia Mac Tab and Emily, l. 

Luc. Cold ! — Ridiculous ! Females of fashion. Miss 
Emily, never complain of the cold now. 

Emily. I didn't know it was the fashion to be insensi- 
ble, great aunt. 

Luc. To the seasons it is. An English gentlewoman of 
the year eighteen hundred, emulates an English oak, which 
is hardy as well as elegant and beautiful, but bare, in the 
month of December. 

Emily. Dear ! that's a charming park yonder. Whom 
can it belong to ? 

Luc. Sir Charles Cropland. 

Emily. Sir Charles Cropland ! Pray, let us get home 
again. 

Luc. Does a fine country frighten you. Miss Emily 1 

Emily. It used, in Canada. 

Luc. For what reason, pray 1 

Etyiily. Because a brute sometimes inhabits it. 

Luc. Ridiculous ! Should we happen to meet Sir 
Charles, I beg that — 

Emily. What, is he here, then ? 

Luc. So Mr. Ollapod informs me. 

Emily. And who is he 1 

Luc. The apothe — Hem ! — the officer who visited the 
family this morning. 

Emily. We will have no more walks without my father, 
madam. 

Luc. Oh! as you please; but — Eh! \ declare, here 
they both come! "Tis impossible to avoid them now. 



46 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 



[Act IV 



Re-enter Sir Charles Cropland and Ollafod, r u. e. 

Emily. Bless me, this is very strange ! 

<S/r C [Ajmrt to Ollajwd.] Engage the old I'abby in 
talk ; and move oft'^with her if you can, 

Olla. [A2Jart.] Mum ! — I'll bother her ! 

\Thcy both come forward. 

Sir C. Ladies, I am rejoiced to see you. To meet you 
in this part of the world is, indeed, an unexpected plea- 
sure. 

Luc. We are come here, you see, to rusticate, Sir Charles, 
as my poor dear brother. Lord Lofty, used to say. Been 
vegetating here, for a week, at a wretched farm-house ' 
but air is the grand article with me. 

Sir C. And what is your grand object in the country, 
Miss Worthington 1 

Emily. To be alone, sir. 

Sir C. Umph ! — A strange propensity, permit me to 
say, for one so young and so beautiful. 

Emily. I learned it from my father, sir ; we neither of 
us like intiuders. 

Olla. (r.) [Aside.] That's a d — d dowse in the blubber- 
chops of my friend, the baronet. I must talk to the old 
one. [Crossing to Lucretia R. c] Hem ! Rural walks here, 
raa'am — all green and twisting, like a snake in a bottle of 
spirits. Wood-pigeons in plenty — hear 'em cooing ] Pop 
'em down here, by dozens. 

[Sir Charles talks apart to Emily, l. 

Euc. They are pleasing birds enough in a grove, sir. 

OUa. And pretty picking in a pie, ma'am. [Aside, look- 
mg towards Sir Charles and Eniily.] Yes — he's beginning. 
— Must have Miss Mac Tab oft' soon. [Aloud.] Fond of 
views, ma'am ] Hill, dale, steeples, rivers, turfs of trees- 
and the like] 

Euc. I admire a rich landscape, sir. When my brother, 
the baron, was planting clumps round Ricketty Castle, I 
used to say he was j^lacing beauty-spots on the face of na- 
ture. 

Olla. Did you ] Come, that was very well — very well 
indeed! Thank you, good madam — I owe you one! 
r^-e!ty spcuting country to the light [She turns towards 



Scene 1.1 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 47 

Sir C/tar/c^ and Emily — 7ie pulls her hy the elhow.] That'3 
to tlie left, ma'am. 

Lttc. Bless me ! this is a very rude man ! Do you knew, 
Si.- Charles, that Emily has lost your beautiful little pre- 
sent I 

S/r C. What, the terrier puppy from Leicestershire 1 

Luc. Gone ; though he was in the apartment when you 
last (lid us the honour of a call. 

*S/> G. Unkind to set so little store by my present, Miss 
Worthington ! And when did you observe the puppy was 
gone 1 

Emily. The very moment you left the room, sir. 

Olla. [Aside.] Humph ! that's another dowse for the ba- 
ronet ! I must get the old woman away. [Pulling Lucretia 
hy the sleeve.] Ma'am ! 

Luc. [Fruminshly.] Lord, sir! 

Olla. Condescend to cast your eye over that hillock — ■ 
the little lump to the left there — round and black, like a 
bolus. From that point, you see three capital counties at 
once. 

Luc. I can't say that I perceive — 

Olla. Stay — here's Kent, fertile in pheasants, cherries, 
hops, yeomen, codlings and cricketers. On one side, Sus- 
sex — 

L^ic. Li what beauties does that abound, sir 1 

Olla. Mutton and dumplings. And there's Surrey—- 
sweet Surrey ! 

Luc. For what may that be famous ? 

Olla. Nothing that I know of, except my countryman, 
Crushjav/s, of Carshalton, who tugs out a stump with per- 
fect pleasure to the patient. 

[Lucretia is continually endeavoring to turn towards Sir 
Charles and Emily, and Ollapod constantly -prevents 
her. 

Luc. 1 protest I see nothing before me but a barn. 

Olla. That's reckoned the only eye-sore in the view, for 
it totally blocks out the prospect. Fifty yards further, we 
may see all. A little swampy here, to be sure — better for 
snipe-shooting. Permit me to touch the tip of your ho- 
nourable little finger, and pass you over the puddles. 

Luc. Bless me ! I can never get over that stile ! 

Olla. [Aside.] A little gummy in the leg, I suppose.—* 



48 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 



[Act IV 



[Aloud.] It's the easiest in England, upon the honour of a 
cornet. If an ankle's exposed, I'll forfeit all the physic m 
my shop. This way ! [TaJdng her hand \ Step out there, 
ma'anri. Curse 'em ! the cows have been liere ! This 
way ! [Exit, hurr/jhig off Lucrctia, u. 

Emily. Gone ! Permit me to follow my relation, sir. 

Sir C. Stay, my dear Miss Worthington ; I have some- 
thing of the utmost consequence to say to you. 

Emily. Speak it quickly, then, sij-. 

Sir C. Your father does not abound in liches, I take it. 

Emily. That is of no consequetice to me, sir, if he can 
be happy. 

Sir C. Now, I am very rich, as men of fashion go ; for 
my estate is not yet dipped above three parts of its value. 

Emily. That can be of no consequence to me at all, sir. 

Sir C. Pardon me — for I have to propose to you — 

Emily. What, sir 1 

Sir C. Your own house in town, the run of my estate 
in the countiy, your own chariot, two footmen, and six hun- 
dred a-year. But you must allow me a little time to my- 
self — a little play at Miles's, a little sport at Newmarket — 
a little hunting in Leicestershire ; and, this apart, you'll 
find me the most domestic man in the world. 

Emily. I fancy I comprehend the nature of your jargon, 
sir. 

Sir C. Jargon ! It is a language perfectly understood 
by all us young fellows, in the circle of St. James's. 'Tis 
the way of the world, my dear little Simplicity ! 

Emily. Oh ! how base must be the world, then, when it 
makes simplicity its victim ! I have been bred in wilds ; 
but the sweet breath of Nature has inspired my soul with 
reason. What does that reason tell me, sir 1 That vice is 
vice, however society may polish it ; that seduction is still 
seduction, however fashion may sanction it ; that intellect, 
speaking through simplicity like mine, has the force of vir- 
tue to strengthen it ; while worldly sophistry must shrink 
from native truth, when it proclaims, that he who could 
break a father's heart by heaping splendid infamy upon 
his child, is a villain ! Let me pass you, sir ! 

Enter Frederick, l. u. e. 
Fre. 1 nave lost my way, and my uncle, and — Eh ! who 
bave we here 1 



Scene I.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 49 

Si?' C. [lyctaining Emilij.\ Upon my soul, you must not 
go ! 

Emihj. How, sir ] 

Sir C. Look ye, my dear Emily — I am advanced too far 
in the game to recede. If you are not mine by entreaty, 
there are four spanking grays, ready harnessed in Cropland 
Park here, that shall whisk us to town in a minute. 

Emi/f/. You dare not, sure — 

Sir C. Nay, faith, I dare anything now ; for the prize 
is in my reach, and I will clasp it, though your heart were 
colder to me than the snows of Russia. 

\^He runs ton'ards her — she scrca7ns — Frederick advances. 

Fre. [Standing hctwetn them.] I bring news from that 
country, sir ; I arrived last night. 

Sir C. Then, sir, you arrived d — (\. mal a propos. What 
aie you ] 

Fre. A man ; so I am bound to protect females from 
brutality. You, it seems, assault them. Pray, sir, what 
are yo . 1 

Sir C. A person of some figure here, sir. You may not 
know, perhaps, the consequence of insulting one of that 
description in this country. 

Fre. Faith, not I ; but I know the consequence of his 
persisting to persecute a woman in my presence. 

Sir C. What may that be 1 

Fre. I knock him down. 

*S//- C. You will please to recollect, sir, I am a gentle- 
m an . 

Fre. I can't, for the soul of me — I can never recollect 
that any man's a gentleman, when I find him forgetting it 
iiimself. 

*S/> C. Can you fight, sir ] 

Fre. Like a game cock, sir — try me. 

Sir C. What is your weapon, sirl 

Fre. The knout. 

Sir C. What the devil's that 1 

Fre. A Russian cat-o'-nine-tails, to chastise a criminal; 
and I know no criminal who more richly deserves it than 
he who degrades manhood by offering violence to the ami- 
able sex, which nature formed him to defend. Fear no« 
thing, madam. 

Sir 0. We must meet again, my hot spark. 



50 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act IV 

Fre. I'm uappy to hear it — it implies you are going 
now. 

Sir C. liark ye, sir: I am called Sir Charles Cropland; 
yonder is my park. 

Frc. \Vith four spanking grays in it. I heard you say 

80. 

Sir C. There is very retired shooting in some parts of 
it, sir. Your name ? 

Fre. Frederick Bramble, nephew to your neig^hbor, ^^ir 
Robert. You'll find me ready to take a morning's sport 
with you. 

Sir C. You shaH hear from me. \ Aside.] This is a curs- 
ed business ! but it will keep up the noise of my name at 
the clubs ; and the duel of a dashing baronet furnishes food 
for the newspapers. [Exit, r. 

Frc. Victory, madam ! The enemy is fled, and virtue 
triumphs in the field. Ha ! you look pale ! 

Emily, \jiluch agitated.] I have been sadly flurried. 

Frc. 'Sdeath! she is near fainting! Let me support 
you, madam. \S/ie appears fainting — lie catches /ter.] — 
Zounds ! how beautiful she is ! Tears ! Now would I 
give the world to kiss them off, and then kick the scoundrel 
that caused them ! 

Emily. [Rccorering.] I know not how to thank you, sir. 

Fre. I'm glad of it, ma'am ; I never like to be thanked 
for merely doing my duty. 

Emily. I fear, sir, that — I mean, I hope that — I — I hope. 
sir, you will not be exposed to further danger on my ac- 
count. 

F:€. I am not used to think of danger, madam, on any 
account ; but something tells me, I should glory in any thai 
I risked for you. Whither shall I have the honour of at- 
tend inor you safe home, madam ? 

Emihj. I have a relation, sir — a female relation, who 
has been walking with me ; she is now, I fancy, in the next 
field, and she will — 

Fre. What, an elderly lady, that I observed just now, 
as I passed, with an officer ? 

Emily. Ah ! that r)fficer — 

Fre. Who is he, pray ] 

Em 1/7/, A wicked accessary, I am convinced, of Sii 
Charles Cropland's. 



ScEJrel.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 51 

F^re. Is he 1 I see him coming — huzza ! I'll blow him 
to l»he devil, if he were generalissimo ! 

Emihj. For Heaven's sake ! you make me tremble. 

Frc. Tremble! I wouldn't give you pain for w' orlds ! 
I'll be calm with him — on your account I will. I'll affront 
him with all the civility imaginable. 

Enter Ollapod hastily, r. 

OJla. The Hcmourable Miss Mac Tab has tumbled up 
to her middle in the mud. Bless me, is Sir Charles gone % 

Frc. You are Sir Charles's friend, it seems, sir ? 

OUa. I have the honour to be close in his confidence. 

Fre. And assist him upon honourable occasions. You 
are an officer, I perceive. 

OUa. He ! he ! Yes, sir ; cornet in our volunteer 
corps of cavalry ; as respectable a body as any regulars in 
Christendom. 

Frc. I don't doubt it at all. To stand forward at home, 
and keep off invaders from the shores of our country, is as 
honourable and praiseworthy, as marching to attack its 
enemies abroad. [Aside to Emihj.\ Pray, don't be alarmed; 
you see I am civil. 

OUa. [Aside.] A pretty spoken young man. I'll encou- 
rage him. [Aloud.] Come, that's very well — very well, in- 
deed ! Thank you, good sir — I owe you one ! 

Fre. But some morbid parts may be found, I fancy, in 
the wholesomest bodies. 

OUa. Decidedly ; like a chubby child, in high health, 
with a whitlow. 

Frc. Just such a whitlow I take vou to be. 

OUa. Me ! 

Frc. Exactly; and 'tis that uniform alone — as I respect 
every symbol of loyalty and patriotism — that prevents my 
cropping your ears as close as your jacket. [Aside to Emi- 
///.] Don't be uneasy ; you see I'm civil. 

OUa. Crop ! Zounds I what do you mean 1 

Frc. Can't you take my meaning in your own way 1 

OUa. Way ! Sir, I engage to kill the enemies of my 
country, in the way of wai ; I never draw blood fiom the 
natives, but in the way of business. 

Fre. Bu sines'^ ! 

Ollu. Yes ; I'm a,a apothecary. Take care how yxju 



52 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. PAcT If 

meddle wiih a man of my repute ! Served my lime, se* 
ven years, under old Cataplasm, of Canteibury ; took out 
my freedom in that ancient city ; thumped the mortar six 
months at Maidstone ; now on my own bottom, in trade, 
at Tunbridge. Cornet Ollapod, at the gilt Galen's Head; 
known to all the nobility round ; sharp shot in a copse ; 
deep dab at the broad-sword exercise; charge a furze- 
bush, wing a woodcock, or blister a lord, with any chap in 
the country. Insult me as an officer, and I'll p/osecute 
you. Touch my ears, you touch my honour ; and, d — n 
me, I'll clap you in the county jail, for assaulting a free- 
man ! [Exit, R. 

Fre. The scarlet apothecary is beneath my notice ; but 
if the fellow has flurried your nerves, madam, which it is 
his trade to tranquillise, I'll 23ound him to death in his 
own mortar ! 

Emilij. Pray, do not be so violent ; it terrifies me. On 
your own account, sir, it terrifies me. 

Fro. On iny account 1 

Emily. Yes. It would grieve me to see one, who is ca- 
pable of such kind actions towards me, hurried into peril 
by the warmth of his temper. 

Fre. I will be what you please. Tell me only whither 
I shall lead you. You are of the neighborhood, I conjec- 
ture. May I ask your name ? 

Emily. Emily Worthington, sir. 

Fre. Worthington ! Tlien you are daughter to the fin- 
est spirited man I ever met in my life. 

Emily. Do you think so % Do you, indeed ] I am very 
glad that you think so. But how came you acquainted ! 

Fre. Why, I — I had a little business with him ; but 
somehow or other, I — I went without my credentials. 
Shall I take you to him 1 Will you trust yourself with me '? 

Emily. Trust myself! — Oh, yes ! — My dear father shall 
tlionk you ; I will thank you; andour poor old corporal, 
who has served in the wars, and followed us through Ame- 
rica, he will thank you, in tears of joy, when he heai's of 
this rescue. 

Fre. The old corporal loves you, then 1 

Emily. Certainly he does. He nursed me when my 
poor mother died, and left me an infant in Gibraltar ; and 
dearly I love him, too ! 



SCBBE II.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 53 

Fre [Aside] Now, what would T give to be an old cor- 
poral ! [Aloud.] I attend you— let me see you home. Oh » 
how would n diminish the number of scoundrels in the 
w<..rld, if they could but once taste the joy of rescuin^r a 
lovely female from perdition, and restoring her to her fa- 
^^'^'' [Exeunt,!.. 

Scene II.— Exterior of Farmer HarrowUJs House. 
Enter Lieutenant Worthington. 

Wor. Emily not yet returned ! I cannot rest in this 
suspense ! Every instant I dread the arrival of these offi- 
cers, to drag me from my family— from my child ! [Look^ 
'^^S ^Jy ^'■] Ha ! two strangers lurking yonder ! Nay 
then, I know their errand. Where is my Emily ? Well 
well; 'tis better, in such a struggle, if the child witness 
not the anguish of the parent. [Retires up, r. 

Enter Sir Robert Bramble and Humphrey Dobbins, l. 

Sir R. So, here we are at last. That hill's a breather ! 
1 am sure that was my nephew I saw, hopping over the 
ploughed land yonder. 

Dob. Not a morsel like him. 

Sir R. I wonder if the rogue has found his way here 
yet. [Seeing Worthington.] Ha ! there's our man, leanino- 
agamst the stump of the tree there. He seems lost in 
thought. Go and tap him on the shoulder, Humphrey. 

Doh. [Advancing to Worthington, and putting his ?iand on 
his shoulder.] You are wanted. 

Wor. [Coming forward.] I understand you. 
Sir R. Your servant, sir. Your name is Worthington 
they tell ma. ° 

Wor. It is, friend. 

Sir R. I have a litt] j business with you ; and it isn't 
my way to use ceremony. 

Wor. I expect none from a person of your stamp. 
Sir R Stamp ! Humphrey, isn't tUt odd ? 
Dob. Not a bit; the neighbors tell everybody what a 
rum jockey you are. 

Sir R. Umph! [To Worthington.] You'll excuse me for 
talking before old Crabbed here ; he' -n all my affairs; 



54 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act IV. 

the ]5uppy has grown gray with me, and I can't well dc 
witliout him. 

Wor. Your follower, I suppose] 

Sir R. Yes, he's always at my heels. You have served 
his majesty, I hear, and done your duty nobly. 

IVor. No matter ; do 7/our duty, and 'tis enough. 

Sir R. [Aside.] Yes, he's as proud as Lucifer, I see ; 
hut there's no flattery in that. [Aloud.] The motives that 
brought me here will prove, I trust, that I don't always 
neglect my duty. 

Wor. You may perform it now, then. If my life dc- 
Dended on it, friend, I could not give you five pounds this 
moment. 

Sir R. Give me five pounds ! Who the devil wishes 
you ] I want to know how I can do you a kindness. 

Wor. I thank you. In consideration, then, for a gentle- 
man, and reliance on his honour to acknowledge the obli- 
gation when in his power, I trust you will place me in an 
apartment in your own house. 

Sir R. An apartment in my own house ! 

Wor. Yes ; where I may have the comft)i t of privacy, 
and my family about me. 

Sir R. [Aside.] D — n me, but this is pretty plump for a 
man, who would sooner see me hanged than ask me a fa- 
vour ! 

Wor. You will not, I think, be harsh enough to lodge 
me among the wretched rabble who are the common in- 
mates of your gloomy walls. 

Sir R. My gloomy walls! [Aside.] An infernal, impu- 
dent old scoundrel ! Squeezes himself and ail his relations 
into my house, and calls my family a wretched rabble ! 
Humphrey, did you ever see such brass ! 

Dob. I always told you, excejit myself, you kept a cjueer 
set. 

Sir R. Zounds! I'll— No, I'll keep my temper ! [To 
Wort/iington.] Pray, sir, what can yoii suppose I am to 
make of you ] 

Wor. Make of me ! [Jlside.] These mercenary harpies ! 
[Ahiid.] I have already told you, friend, ysou can make no- 
thing of me in my present situation. What you think you 
may make of me in future, as a man of honour, I leave to 
your own feolings. 



ScEWElI.] THE POOR GENTI^EMAN. 55 

Sir R. I won't consult my own feelings now, sir ] 1 
must proceed upon my judgment. 

Wor. I know you are proceeding upon a judgment. 

Sir R. And that judgment is cursedly against you a< 
this moment, let me tell you. 

Wor. 'Tis my misfortune. 

Sir R. If you think that a misfv^tune, you might aft well 
alter your conduct with me a little ; — I don't see th& drift 
on't. 

Wor. Drift! 

Sir R. Ay ; where's the policy 1 

Wor. That expired but a few hours too soon. 

Sir R. \ Aside] His policy expired but a few ho\s.rrf to< 
soon ! Why, the man's a maniac ! His distresses have 
deranged him. [Aloud.] Were you — ahem ! — were you 
ever wounded in the head ] 

Wor. Wounded in the head ! 

Sir R. Yes, in any of the actions you have had ? 

Wor. Truce with inten'ogations, friend ! I am ready 
to accompany you. 

Sir R. You are ; — And, pray where are we to go ? 

Wor. I told you 1 should give your own house the pre- 
ference. 

*S?> R. Curse me, if ever you set your foot over my 
threshold ! 

Wor. Lead me where you please, then. You proffered 
kindness, and I was weak enough to expect it ; but I might 
have known, that one of your cast is deaf to the petition o( 
distress. 

Sir R. The devil I am ! 

Wor. Familiar with scenes of want, habit hardens your 
heart, till the very face becomes an index of the mind, and 
callous inhumanity scowls in every lineament of the hard- 
featured bailiff. 

Sir R. Blood and thunder! — IBailil!'! — Humphrey, do I 
look a bit like a bailiff '? 

Dob. I don't know but you do. 

Sir R. Sir — 1 — pardon your mistake, and I like youi 
spirit ; there's no flattery in it ; — but I'm in a passion for 
all that. Many a modern Sir .Tacky looks like a prize- 
fighter; but it's rather hard to take a baronet of the old 
school for a biim-bailifl' ! 



56 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. f Act IV 

Wor. [Loo/cing of, r.] My daughter ] 
Sir R. And my sky-rocket of a nephew ! 

Enter Frederick and Emily, r. — Etnilyruns tohrr father, 

Fre. Ha ! you are here at last, I perceive, uncle. 

Wor. (r.) Uncle ! [To Frederick.] Is this Sir Robert 
Bramble, then — the generous relation of whom you told 
me 1 

Sir R. (c.) Generous ! psha ! — But I am his uncle : 
though the puppy's smart enough, he's nephew to the hard- 
featured fellow, whose face is an index of his mind. 

Emily, (r. c.) Oh, sir, if you are his relation, talk to 
him, I entreat you — aigue with him — 

Sir R. Argue with him ! — That I will, with all my heart 
and soul ! On what subject 1 

Emily. On his rash intention, sir, to meet the ruffij^n 
from whom he has just rescued me. 

Wor. Rescued you, Emily ! What does this mean 1 

Fre. Oh ! a mere trifle — nothing. A gentleman in the 
fields here, happened to be so very civil to Miss VVorthing- 
ton, that I took it for rudeness ; so I happened to be so 
rude to him, that he couldn't take it for civility — that's all. 

Wor. Rudeness to my child ! Who has dared to — But 
come in, Emily. [To Sir Robert.] Your pardon, sir; you 
have found nothing but cojifusion here, and I must retire 
with my daughter for an explanation. Come, Emily ! 

Emily. Let us thank this gentleman before we go, sir. 

Ere. Upon my soul, 1 deserve no thanks, sir. If I dp 
serve opinion more — 

Emily. Farewell, sir ; and pray — pray, be cautious ! 
[Exeunt Worrhington and, Emily into the house, r. 

Sir R. Frederick, who is the fellow you have been quar 
relling with ] 

Fre. (r.) He calls himself Sir Charles Cropland. 

Sir R. (c.) 1 know him — he's a puppy ! Must you 
fight him 1 

Fre. So he tells me. 

*S/> R. I'll be your sect^nd. 

Fre. You ! 

Sir R. Yes ; fighting's a sort of sharp argument : and, 
as we defend the cause of insulted innocence, it's cursed 



ScEin: I.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 5/ 

hard if we haven't the best on't. But, haikye you doffi 
don't fall in love with the girl 

Fre. I have. 

&ir R, Yoxi haven't ! 

jFre. Over head and ears. 

Sir R. Why, you blockhead ! she's a beggar! 

Fre. So am I : we shall make a very pretty couple. 

Sir R. And, if you married, how would you support 

Fre. Perhaps you would support us. 

Sir R. You sha'n't have a shilling till my death ! 

Fre. Then I hope we shall have the pleasure of starving 
together a great while, sir. 

Sir R. Run back, and order a dinner for a party ; tell 
old Buncles, the butler, to lug out some claret. 

Fre.^ Then, after dinner, I'll drink Emily Worthington 
in a pmt bumper. \ExitL. 

Sir R. Humphrey, you haven't attended, now, to a word 
of what was passing. 

Dod. Every syllable on't. 

^zV i2. You'll laugh to see me out in a duel, I suppose 1 

Dob. No, I sha'n't ; I'd sooner be shot at myself. 

Sir R. Umph ! — If my nephew marries this girl, I've a 
great mind to cut him oft' with a shilling. 

Dob. No, you won't. 

Sir R. Why, you know, he's as poor as a rat. 

Dob. The rat's your relation : it would be plaguy hard 
to starve him, when you feed all the rest of the rats in :he 
parish. 

^/r ii. Come along, Humphrey : and if ever you star\'e, 
rank bacon and mouldy pie-crust be my portion ! 

[Exeunt^ l. 

END OF ACT IV. 



AC T V. 
Scene I. — A Wood and a Fathway. 
Enter Ollapod, l. 
Olla. An awkward errand I'm on to Sir Robert Bram* 



58 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [AcT ▼ 

ble*s ; — not quite correct to carry a challenge into x family 
I've physicked ; but honour, in this case, before medicine ! 
A leaf of laurel is worth twenty drops of laudanum. Mara 
is first customer, and d — n yEsculapius ! [Looking off, l.] 
Ha ! here comes the enemy up the hill from the house.^ — 
The game meets me half way, as death does the doctor ! 

\ Retires vp, l 

Enter Fuederick, musing, r., not seeing Ollapod. 

Frc. " A pointed pain pierced deep my heart — 

A swift cold trembling seized on every part.** 

Olla. \Asidc\ That's an ague ! 

Fre. " But quickly to my cost I found, 

'Twas Love, not Death, had made the wound !" 

Olla. \Aside?^ Oh, confound that disease ! it's cured with- 
out an apothecary ! 

Fre. I've ordered dinner for my old uncle, and now I 
can't for my life, help loitering about the farm-house. 
What mind she has in every look ! I would rather be a 
whale, and flounce about the Baltic, than fall in love with 
a fine proportioned face of beautiful insipidity. 'Tis a lamp 
without oil — Heaven in a fog ! Give me those dear, be- 
witching features, wliere sweet expression always speaks, 
and sometimes sparkles. Give me a dimpled beauty that 
— \Seeing Ollapod.] Zounds ! here's that cursed ugly apo- 
thecary ! Pray, sir, do you know what are some men's 
antipathies 1 

Olla. Yes — cats, rats, old maids, double-tripe, spiders, 
Cheshire cheese, and cork-cutters. 

Fre. Now my antipathy, sir, is a pert apothecary. How 
dare you look me again in the face without trembling? 

Olla. Trembling ! At what \ 

Fre. Death. 

Olla, Pooh ! I've made it my business to look death in 
the face for fifteen years, and don't tremble at it at all. 

Fre. Why do you presume, sir, to come across me 
here ] 

Olla. Here ! — This is the king's highway, trod on as 
common as camomile — crowded with all comers, like the 
Red Cow on a field-day. Besides, I've business at ^lack 
berry Hall. 

*Ve. At my uncle's 1 



SCEWE I.l THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 59 

Olid. Yes ; I've sometliing in my pocket to deli\ or there ; 
you may guess what it is. 

Frc. Li{)-salve f(u- tlie maid, perhaps; or rose-water to 
put into puddings. 

OJla. D — n Hps and puddings ! I've a letter for you. 

Fre. You have ? 

Olla. Yes — to be taken directly. [Giving it.'\ Eh ! isn* 
that Sir Robert Bramble 1 

Enter Sir Robert Bra<^ible, l. 

*S/V R. I've sprained my bacdc. trying to tVisk over that 
infernal farmer's hog-trough ! If Humphrey hadn't ar- 
gued I was too stiff" in the joints to jump, I'd have seen the 
dog at the devil before I attempted it ! Ha ! Mr. 011a- 
pod ! Your servant — your servant ! Tell me what brings 
you this way. 

Olla. \Aside.] I'll see you in a fever first ! [Aloud.] Dry 
weather for walking, Sir Robert ; but no news — young 
partiidges looked for every day — so are six Hamburgh 
mails. Glad to find our gout is gone, Sir Robert — happy 
to meet you again on a good footing. Do you take, good 
sir 1 do you take ? 

Sir R. I take your jokes as I do your bottles of physic, 
Master Ollapod. 

Olla. How is that. Sir Robert 1 

Sir R. 1 never take them at all. 

Olla. Come, that's very well, very well, indeed ! Thank 
you, good sir — I owe you one ! 

Sir R. Frederick, what are you doing here 1 

Fre. Reading a challenge, uncle. 

Sir R. So, 'tis come, then ! Who brought it 1 

Fre. [Pointing to Ollapod.] Pestle and mortar there. 
[Handing the letter,] Read, uncle, read ! 

Sir R. [Reading.] " Sir — Mr. Ollapod, of the volunteer 
corps., will deliver this to you. You will find me, half an 
hour hence, at the plantation on the heath, tvaiting to receive 
the satisfaction due to j;ovr humhle servant, Charles Crop- 
land." Plain aF a demonstration in Euclid! \To Olla- 
pod.] But how dare you, who have bled my coachman till 
he can't drive, and juleped my cook till she faints at a fire, 
administer a challenge to my nephew 1 

Olla. Honour is rigid, Sir Robert, and must be minded 
as strictly as a milk diet. 



60 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act T 

Sir R. You come here, in short as Sir Charles Crop 
land's friend ] 

Olla, I do. Gallipots must give way to gallant feelings, 
and Galen is gagged by Bellona. Sorry to offend the 
Bramble family ! Shall bring lint, probe, and styptic, 
along with the pistols. Though sei-ving as second on one 
side, shall be proud to extract a ball for either party, on as 
reasonable terms as any in the profession. [Exif, l. 

Fre. I have been thinking, uncle, and — You sha'n't ac- 
company me in this Jpusiness. 

Sir R. I sha'n't ! You puppy ! haven't I a right to 
smell powder if I please ] 

Fre. 'Tis an awkward business altogether — perhaps a 
foolish one. I am a useless fellow, floating through the 
world like a mere feather : if I am blown out of sight, 
'tis no matter. You are of too much value, uncle, to be 
made the sport of every idle gale. 

Sir R. Now what, in the devil's name, is the value of a 
man, if he don't stand by his friend when he wants him 1 

Fre. And what, in the devil's name, uncle, is the value 
of his friend, if he only drags him into a scrape ] 

Sir R. A scrape ! 

Fre. Yes. They tell me the law of this country is apt 
to call killing a man in a duel, murder, and to look on all 
accessaries as principals. Now, uncle, as 1 am going on 
an expedition which may end in hanging, I don't think it 
quite considerate to inveigle an honest friend to be of the 
party. 

Sir R. I never heard the argument put in that way be- 
fore ; — there are few, I fancy, of your opinion. 

Fre. Oh, a great many ! There are men enough to be 
found, who would give in the same opinion by twelve at a 
time. But should I fall in my encounter with this booby 
of a baronet — 

Sir R. Fall ! 

Fre. Why, 'twould be bold to argue, uncle, if a bullet 
hits in a mortal place, that it won't kill ; and, in case oi 
Jhe worst, I have a request to make. 

Sir R. \ Uneasy.] Well. 

Fre. If I fall, then, uncle, you — you know I have a la- 
ther. 

SirR. I Agitated,] Well! 



fiCKWElI.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN 61 

Fre. He is your brother, my dear uncle—an affectionate 
brother \our tempers may not assimilate, but he loves 
liml '' ^'''''^' f ^''^""''^ ''"'" ^'''''^'^ ^^ ^ ^^"' remember 

Sir R {Throwing himself on his nec/c] My dear, dear 
1^ rederick ! your death would break my heart ' I have 
been reasoning all my life, and find that all argument will 
vanish before one touch of nature. 

Frc.I fancy you will often find it so, my dear uncle. 

iiir R. And nature tells me, if you argue for ages, you 
sha n t prevent the old man's going with you. Come ; we 
must go home to prepare. You must have my pistols,' and 
—-Upon ray soul, Frederick, 1 love my brother Job ! 
Well have him over, and— Zounds ! this will all end in 
smoke ! And then I'll write to Russia— we'll have a fa- 
mily party, and be jolly, and— Come, my dear lad! come! 

[Exeunt, r. 

Scene U.—The Parlour in Fanner Harrowlijs House, 

Enter Lieutenant Worthington, l. 

Wor. This young man may rashly plunge into a quarrel 

on il^mily's account; 'tis my duty to chastise the insulter 

of my child. At Sir Robert Bramble's I might learn more 

and— But in what state of mind should I attend him ! 

Enter Corporal Foss, r. 

So, corporal ; have you observed any people about the 
house ? 

Foss. No enemies, your honour, unless they are in am- 
Duscade. 

Wor. I am strongly inclined to go to Sir Robert's to- 
day. 

Foss. I hope your honour will ; they say he is such a 
good-hearted old gentleman : ten to one but he chives your 
hoijour a helping hand. ^ 

Wor. [HaJf-asidc] Then he'll think I come to solicit 
assistance. 1 will not go ! 

Foss.. Won't you, your honour ? 

Wor, I wish to see my daughter again, corporal. 

Foss I had almost made sure of your honour's goine. 
1 have laid opt the red rpquelaire ; and, in case of a dafk 



62 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act Y 

night, Stephen's now in the stable, dusting out the lantern, 
for me to march home before your honour. 

Wor. Well, well; send Emily to me. 

Foss. [Sighing.] Heigho ! [Going.] Oh, here comes my 
young lady. 

Enter Emily, r. 

[Aside to lier.] Make him go to Sir Robert's, Miss Emily 

bless you, do ! Mollify his honour a bit ; — you don't 

know half the good may come on't. Do, now ! [Exit, r. 

Wor. What said the corporal, Emily ] 

Emily. He bid me press our going to Sir Robert Bram- 
ble's to-day. 

Wor. Should you wish me, Emily, to place myself in a 
situation, where I might be suspected of imploring sup- 
port 1 

E?mli/. Heaven forbid ! But the gentleman who pro- 
tected me has been so good, so very good, that — 

Wor. That what, Emily 1 

Emily. I should like — to thank him — that's all. 

Wor, Have we not both thanked him already 1 

Emily. Yes, but — not enough, perhaps. 

Wor. If more be necessary, I may express our further 
sense of his goodness by letter. 

Emily. The service he did me, was not by letter, you 
know, my dear father. 

Wor. You seem strangely interested here, Emily. 

Emily. Shouldn't I be so ] I hope I ought ; for indeed, 
indeed — [ Unable to suppress her tears.] — I — I am very un- 
easy 1 

Wor. My child ! uneasy ! — Compose yourself, Emily ! 
Open your heart to me — to your father — your friend, 
Emily ! 

Emily. Indeed, I never wish to hide my thoughts from 
you : they often meet your ear, so wild and so unformed, 
that they resemble dreams. 

Wor. Alas ! my child, the thoughts of young minds too 
frequently resemble dreams. Should you love this young 
man, Emily, it is a dream, from which no reproof of mine 
shall startle you, but the gentleness of a father shall awak- 
en you. 

Emily. Lovr him ! — Oh, no — But he preserved me frore 



ScEHiII.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 63b 

danger, and, en that accoun!, I dread he may incur it him- 
self. 

IVor. You know not yet what your heart is, Emily. 

Emily. Yes, indeed I do. I should be grieved if I did 
not know it dearly loved you. 

Wor. And you have no such sentiments towards this 
young man, Emily ] 

Emily. No, upon my word : the sentiments I feel for 
him are as different as light and darkness. 

Wor. My dearest Emily, till you know the world's path 
bettei, be cautious how you tread. I may soon be snatch- 
ed from you, Emily — 

Emily. My father ! 

Wor. Take, then, my fondest counsel while I live — my 
best legacy, alas ! should I be hurried from you. Act not 
too suddenly on ideas. Doubt that passion may mislead 
you, till reflection justifies your impulse. Wed not for 
wealth, Emily, without love — 'tis gaudy slavery ; nor for 
love, without competence — 'tis twofold misery. Glide 
gently down the stream, with neither too full a sail, nor 
too slight a freightage ; and may your voyage, my child, be 
happier — much happier than your father's ! 

Re-enter Corporal Foss, r. 

Foss. Madam Mac Tab wants to know if you all dine at 
Sir Robert's, your honour. 

Wor. Why does she inquire, corporal ? 

Foss. It's about putting on some of her trinkums and 
furbelows, I fancy, your honour. She came in, awhile 
ago, as muddy as our little pigeon-toed drummer after a 
long march. 

War. I have thought on't. Tell her we shall go. 

Foss. No — will you ] Huzza ! I ha'n't been better 
pleased since they made me a corporal ! [Exit, r. 

Emily. You will go, then 1 

Wor. Some explanation is necessary there, and I will 
make up my mind to bury other feelings. Lucretia will 
go with us ; we must afterwards take our leave of her en- 
tirely. 

Emily. Indeed ! 

Wor. Her conduct, of which you have informed me, 
wiUi Sir Charles Cropland, has decided me ; and sha will 



64 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. j [Act 9 

only quit a tottering asylum. I have to tell you, our friend 
Burtbrd is dead, Emily. 

Emili/. What ! the friend that — 

IVor. Yes, Emily ; a worthy — an honourable man ; — 
but, from the suddenness of his death — 'tis fit I prepare 
you for the shock — he has left me in involvements, which, 
in a few houis, may enclose me in a prison. 

Emilij. A prison ! — You ! — You will take me with you 1 
Won't you take me with you 1 

Wor. Like the eagle on the rock, Emily, I must shelter 
my nestling where Providence ordains. 

Emily. Well, then, do not make yourself unhappy, my 
dear father ! We shall not be very miserable if we are 
not asunder. 1 will sit by you — talk to you — listen to 
you ; and should a tear steal upon your cheek, I can kiss 
it off, and — [Sobbing involuntarily.] — I am not shocked for 
myself — pray forgive me ! 

Woj'. [Folding her in his ar?ns.\ My beloved — my ami- 
able child ! 

Enter Miss Lucretia Mac Tab, r. 

Luc. If we live here for a twelvemonth, I'll never speak 
to that beastly quack who left me in the ditch, again. 

Wor. We shall not live here for a twelvemonth, madam. 

Luc. I am glad of it, for this place is worse than a cow- 
house. One is up to one's ears in mud, and nothing but 
brutes are its constant inhabitants. 

JVor. And, after what has passed, you will feel as little 
surprise as I mean offence, when I propose to you to re- 
linquish the fortunes of a man, whose situation, in all places, 
must be so irksome to you. 

Lt/c. I — I understand. You are weak enough, then, 
Mr. Worthington, to wish me to withdraw my countenance 
from the family 1 

Wor. Since the strength of your zeal for my family, ma- 
dam, has so far outrun my weak notions of its happiness, I 
confess I do wish you to withdraw it. 

Luc. 'Tis very well, sir ! 

Wor. When you are ready, madam, to go to Sir Robert 
Bramble's, you will find Emily and me in the garden, pre* 
pared to attend you. Cf>me, my love ! 

\ Exeunt XVorthington and Emily, L 



ScKirclI.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 65 

Luc, Then the Honourable Miss Lucretia Mac Tab is 
cut, at last, by a half-pay lieutenant in a marching regi- 
ment ! 

Re-enter Corporal Foss, r. 

Foss. Is your ladyship's honour ready to go ? 

Luc. Go ! — Are you sent to drum me out, fellow, as you 
would a deserter ? 

Foss. I don't come to drum your ladysljip's honour : I 
want to know if you'll go to Sir Robert's. 

Luc. Go to-morrow, by break of day, to the post-house; 
ask if there's a return-chaise there for London. 

Foss. What am I to do then, an' it please you ] 

Luc, Secure a seat in it for the Honourable Miss Lucre- 
tia Mac Tab. 

Foss, Is your ladyship's honour bundling off, then 1 

Luc. Bundling, you brute ! Obey my orders. 

Foss. That I will, with all my heart and soul, an' please 
your honour. 

Luc. I'll withdraw myself from this wretched family : 
I'll go down to Scotland, and patronize my sixteenth cou- 
sin, the tobacconist of Glasgow. [Exit, r. 

Enter Stephen Harrowby, l. 

Ste. Here be the lantern, Master Corporal ; I ha' made 
him shine like our barn-door. If you do like a duck, now, 
for your supper, I ha' shot one of ourn for you, wi' fey- 
ther's blunderbuss. 

Foss. How came you to do that, my honest lad 1 

Ste. Why, she ware marching before a whole brood of 
young ones, and looked for all the world like a captain at 
the head of his attachment. We ha' no herbs to stuff her, 
for I ha' cut up all our kitchen-garden, to look like a mor- 
tification. 

Foss. Well, well, I must attend his honour; but keep a 
sharp look-out, my good lad ; you know what I told you. 

Ste. What, about the bum-baileys ? Rot 'um ! I'll 
blow 'em up wi' gunpowder ! 

Foss. Keep a good watch, tliat's all. 

Ste. Dang me, if a soldier's hurt on our premises ! — I've 
unmuzzled Towzer and Cabbage ; they'll bite all as come, 
good or bad. Come you along, Mr. Corporal — [Singing,] 
«* For a soldier — a soldier's the lad for me !*' [Excmit, \!. 



66 THE POOR GE.NTLEMAN. [Act I 

Scene III. — Sir Charles Cropland's Park, 
Enter Sir Charles Cropland and Ollapod, l. 

Sir C. We are on tlie ground first. 

Olla. Perhaps the enemy's subject to a common com- 
plaint. 

Sir C. What's that 1 

Olla. TrouWed with a palpitation of heart, and can't 
come. 

Sir C. He doesn't seem of that sort. What are the 
odds, now, tliat he doesn't wing me ! These greenhorns 
generally hit everything but the man they aim at. 

Olla. Do they 1 — Zounds ! then the odds are, that he'll 
wing me. I'll be principal, if you please ; for, to say the 
truth, I never served my time to the trade of a second. 

Sir C. Psha ! — You must measure the distance when 
he comes, Ollapod. 

Olla. VV^liat's the usual distance, Sir Charles 1 

Sir C. Eight paces. 

Olla. Bless me ! men might as well fight across a coun- 
ter. Does the second always measure the ground ? 

Sir C. 'Tis the custom. 

Olla. Then you had better have chosen one a little lon- 
ger in the legs. If 1 was to fight, I'd come out with a co- 
lossus. 

Sir C. \Looking oJf\ l.] I see him coming to the stile. 

Olla. There ! he has jumped over. Curse him ! he's 
as nimble as quicksilver. And there's old Sir Robert wad- 
dling behind him like a badger. 

Sir C. They are here. 

Enter Frederick and Sir Robert Bramble, l. 

Sir R. Gently, Frederick; I tell you I'm out of breath. 

Frc. We shall be too late, and — Oh ! here's my man. 
I hope we haven't kept you waiting, sir. They say, in 
England, when people are to shoot at one another, it's the 
only engagement in which it's the fashion to be punctual. 

Sir C. You are pretty exact, sir 

Frc. Let us lose no time, if you please, then ; for din- 
ner will he spoiled. 

Sir C. Perhaps, sir, one of us may never go to dinnef 
asrain. 



Scimtlll.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 67 

Frc. No ; but my uncle will, and 'twould be pity he 
should liave his meat over-roasted. 

Sir C. Mr. Ollapod, be so good as to walk over the 
ground. 

Olla. Left foot foremost, as they do in the infantry. 

Sir R. Hold, Sir Charles ! Perhaps this matter may 
be brought to an accommodation. 

Sir C. I don't well see how, Sir Robert. 

Sir R. If you are alive to fair argument, I think I shall 
convince you, you have been cursedly in the wrong. 

Sir C. I didn't come here to argue, sir. 

Sir R. Didn't you 1 Frederick, you must shoot him : 
a man that won't listen to argument, deserves to be blown 
to the devil ! 

Olla. [Finishing his ineasuremeni.] Five — six — seven — 
eight ! 

Frc, We'll take our ground, if you please, sir. 

Sir C. Give me that, Ollapod; [Taking a pistol from 
him,] and sucess to hair-triggers ! 

Sir R. [ To Frederick.] Here is your pistol, my dear 
lad. Zounds ! my heart is as heavy as a bullet ! Happen 
what will, I shall never forget poor Job ; and as for you, 
Frederick — Come ! d — n it : we mustn't blubber now ! 
[ They take their ground and present. 

Olla. Stop! here's somebody coming. [Aside.] Medical 
man never witnessed a finer crisis ! 

Enter Lieutenant Worthington, l. u. e. 

Wor. [Coming Jorwa7-d, c] My friend! Sir Robert 

Bramble, too ! — Pistols ! 

Fre. (l.) Stand out of the way, my dear sir! Whoever 
is on his legs after the first fire, will have the pleasure of 
speaking to you. 

Wor. Stay, gentlemen ! This business, I believe, re- 
quires my interference. 

Sir C. (r.) And pray, sir, what may make your inter- 
ference so necessary ] 

Wor. I conceive you to be Sir Charles Cropland ; which 
argues — 

Sir R. Don't waste your arguments ; they'll be all 
Jirown iway upon him. 



68 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. [Act V 

Sir C. 1 am Sir Charles Cropland, sir; and, pray, whc 
are you 1 

Wor. I will tell you, sir. I am an officer in his majes- 
ty's army, quick to resent a private injury, as I have been 
ready to face my country's foes. I am one, sir, who am 
as gratified to meet you, that I may chastise you as you 
merit, as you have ever been industrious to skulk from me, 
conscious of the punishment you have deserved. I need 
not tell you my name is Worth ington. 

Sir R. D — me ! but that is better than argument, and 
as unlike flattery as anything I ever heard in my life ! 

Fre. [To Sir Charles.] Now, pray, sir, are you and I to 
go home to our dinners, or are we to swallow a forced-meat 
ball in the fields 1 

Sir C. We had better suspend the business, sir. There 
are ladies coming. 

Enter Lucretia and Emily, l. s. e. 

Luc. \Apart to Emili/.] Your father has trotted on, child, 
as if he was on a forced march. [Looking round.] Bless 
me ! who have we here 1 

Emili/. My father, with Sir Robert, and Ha ! Sir 

Charles Cropland there 1 

Luc. And that brute who left me in the mire. 

Olla. [Aside.] That's me ! 

Wor. You and I, Sir Charles, must find another moment 
for explanation. 

Sir C. The immediate moment may be the best. [Crosses 
to Emily.] Miss Worthington, I confess my fault and plead 
for pardon. You will not only, I hope, afford me your 
own, but intercede with Mr. Worthington for his also. [To 
Frederick.] You checked me, rather roughly, indeed, in a 
career which I have acknowledged to be wrong, sir. In • 
stead, therefore, of proceeding in resentment, it will be 
better to offer you my thanks, if you will be pleased to ac- 
cept them. 

Fre. Sir, 'tis pleasanter to be thanked than shot at, any 
time ; and I accept them willingly. 

Sir C. I take my leave, then. I haven't dashed through 
this scrape according to present principles : a man's own- 
ing he is sorry for his vices, may get him laughed at among 



Scene III.l THE POOR GENTLEMAN. BB 

a few gay friends, who have more spirits than thought; 
but I believe he'll hunt the pieasanter for it in Leicester- 
shire. \Exit, L. 

Olla. [Advancing, c.J Miss Lucretia Mac Tab, 1 confess 
my fault, and plead for pardon, since I unluckily left you 
in a puddle ; and I sincerely hope you'll never be in such 
a pickle again ! 

JLuc. Stand away, you brute! 

Olla. Sir Robert, I hope you won't withdraw your 
friendship ; and it would give me a deal of mortification to 
be cut off from your custom. 

Sir R. Oh, Master Ollapod, your little foibles are like 
your small quantities of magnesia — they give no great nau- 
sea, and do neither harm nor good. 

Olla. Come, that's very well— very well, indeed ! Thank 
you, good sir — I owe you one ! [Aside.] I'll stay, and he'll 
ask me to dinner. 

Sir R. And what are you saying there to Miss Worthing- 
ton, Frederick 1 

Fre. Telling her what good cheer there is in Blackberry 
Hall, uncle ; and what a worthy gentleman is at the head 
of the table, where I am going to have the pleasure to lead 
her. 

Sir R. You are devilish ready to do the honours — isn't 
he, Mr. Worthington % 

Wor. To do honour to the human heart, sir, I have 
found him very ready. 

Sir R. And have you found him so very ready to doho- 
nouf to the heart. Miss Worthington 1 

Emily. Yes, indeed I have, sir. 

Sir R. I begin to perceive it. I'm a strange old fellow, 
fond of argument, they say ; but I have so little time left 
now in this world, that some of my arguments are a little 
shorter than they used to be. When I was hobbling over 
the stile, after Frederick there, and thought that the dog 
might be shivered to atoms, I made a determination in my 
own mind, if he happened to survive, that he and your 
daughter — What's your name, young lady % 

Emily. Emily, sir. 

Sir R. Ah ! a pretty name enough. That he and Emilj 
should make a happy couple. 

IVor, Never, sir ! 



70 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. f Act f 

Sit R. That's a plump negatur ! We'll argue that point, 
if you please. 

iVor. My child, Sir Robert, has heard my opinions very 
lately ; and hearing the opinions of a friend, she adopts 
them. 

Sir R. Does she ? Then she's as little like Humphrey 
Dobbins in her mind, as she is in her features. 

]Vor. To you it may now be necessary to say, that I am 
poorer even than poor ; but, observe, I disdain all solicita- 
tions. This very day I have been apprised — 

Sir R. Oh, I know what you mean — the bond for five 
hundred pounds. 

Wor. [Rather haughtily.^ How came you apprised of 
that bond, sir 1 

Sir R. I have paid it. 

Wor. Paid it ! 

Sir R. Yes ; while Frederick was loading his pistols in 
the next room, to come to the field here. 

Wor. You astonish me ! 

Sir R. Why so ? I happen to be sheriff of the county; 
and as all writs are returnable to me, a scrubbyish fellow 
asked me to sign one against you. I thought it might be 
as well not to lock up a worthy man in a scurvy room, just 
as I had asked him, from no common motis'es, to sit down 
to my tnble ; — so I drew upon my bankers, instead of John 
Doe and Ricliard Roe ; and you may re-imburse me at 
your leisure. 

Fre. My dear, dear uncle, you have been before me 
here. 

Sir R. You rogue, if your fortune could serve you as 
well as your legs, I believe you'd have been before me 
here, too. 

Wor. I know not what to say to you, Sit Robert. 

Sir R. Confess you're a d — d bad physiognomist, and 
Pm content ! Say a man's countoTiance may a little belie 
his nature ; though, as sheriff of the county, I own I am 
head of the bum-bailiffs. 

Wor. I shall nrn^er be able to repay you this debt, sir, 
but by lou'T find miserable instalments 

Str R. You shall give me security, 

Wor. I wish it — any in my power. 

Sir R. Miss Emily, pray come here Frederick, yon 



ScEKE III.] THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 71 

dog, come on the other side of me. Let rae appoint you 
two inistees for a bond Mr. VVorthington shall give me — a 
bond of family alliance ; fulfil your charge punctually, and 
Heaven prosper you in your obligations ! Mr. Worthing- 
ton, what say you 1 

War. You overwhelm me — I cannot speak ! 

[Frederick emhraces Emily. 

Sir R. The trustees are dumb, too ; but I see they are 
embracing the obligations pretty willingly. 

Olla. [Aside.] A marriage between the young ones ! I 
hope I may be in favour with the family nine months 
hence ! 

Luc. Sir Robert, I rejoice at the alliance. The Bram- 
bles came in with the Conqueror, and are no disgrace to 
the Mac Tabs. 

Sir R. I haven't the honour to know exactly who you 
may be, madam, but I thank you. But, zounds ! our din- 
ner will be waiting. Make one of the party, if you please, 
Ollapod. 

Olla. I'll attack your mutton with all my heart, Sir Ro- 
bert. [.^side.\ I knew he'd ask me to dinner! 

Frc. Come, Emily, let me lead you to a house w'nere 
or»r days may be long — be happy ! You look doubtingly. 

Emilij. No, indeed. When my father doubted, I have 
doubted ; but I can read his eyes, as he, I own, not long 
since, read my heart. You have been my preserver, and 
I cannot help feeling gratitude. 

Sir R, Love, you mean, you little devil ! Frederick, 
we'll have Job a grandfather before he can get from Rus- 
sia ! 

Fre. My dear uncle, your hand — Mr. Worthington, suf- 
fer me to press yours. Emily, you have my heart ; and 
may hearts, when unvitiated by the world, meet the hap- 
piness I expect, and the approbation of the virtuous ! 

THE EPILOGUE, 

SPOKEN RY THE CHARACTERS. 

Olla. Dull Care, avaunt ! — All here are now content. 
S/r K. Hold ! that admits, perhaps, of argument. 

Some may be sickened here. 
Imc, B-.it how txT knoSv ^ 



•/2 THE POOR GENTLEMAN. jXcT ? 

OUa. Their pulses must be felt before they go. 
Sir R. Their pulses felt ! — That should be done by you. 
Olla. That's very well ! — Thank you, good sir — I owe 
you two ! \To the audience. 

Hold up your heads ! — Ahem ! — The patients 
smile, 

And don't seem troubled very much with bile. 

I dose men's spirits to their proper pitch j 

As Cornet, every female 1 bewitch. 
JjUc. Not when you leave a lady in the ditch! 
Wor. As father, I each father's favour court. 
Emily. As daughter, 1 from daughters ask support. 
Olla^ Apothecaries, cheer me with your bounty ! 
Sir R. Bum-bailiffs, me, as sheriff of the county. 
Fre. I deprecate the cruel critic's stabs. 
Luc. And I, by all the blood of the Mac Tabs ! 
Wor. And if, to-night, our efforts should succeed, 

Then The Poor Gentleman is rich indeed ! 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OF 
THE CURTAIN. 

Luc. Wor. Emily. Fre Sir R. OubA 

E.] lb 

znx sifo 



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